


Not demanding your answer, merely looking forward to your visit

by Kana_Go



Series: Russian to English translations [13]
Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Kink, M/M, Mystery, Post-Series AU, Pseudo-History, Resolved Sexual Tension, more spoiler tags are at the end notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kana_Go/pseuds/Kana_Go
Summary: While being in the service of the duke of Milan, Leonardo receives a letter from Forli.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ответа не требую, жду лишь визита](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772887) by [Kana_Go](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kana_Go/pseuds/Kana_Go). 

> As usual, my immense gratitude goes to meridianrose for her huge help with beta-reading!  
Great thanks to overthinking-panda for the Italian translation of the text used for the illustration!

_ _

_To the military engineer in the service of the Duke of Milan Ludovico Sforza,_

_Messer Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci._

_To be delivered into his hands._

_Dearest Leonardo,_

_Keenly aware of the fact how long ago the Lord decided we were not destined to share a path, and taking into account our past contradictions and mutual misunderstandings, I am, however, taking the liberty of inviting you to share a humble meal with me and my spouse Caterina. We’d be delighted if you could grace with your presence at our family estate, Rocca di Ravaldino, in Forli at any time you regard convenient._

_I hope you are in good health and your court post does not feel a burden to you._

_I am not demanding your answer, merely looking forward to your visit._

_…_

_…_

_…_

***

“Leo! Leo!” His friend’s voice ripped Leonardo out of the mental recollection of the letter brought by a messenger about a month ago. “I’m asking what you think about the new alloy! Are you even listening to me? Or daydreaming about that little love letter of yours again?”

Leonardo ran his fingers through his hair, shook his head and with deliberate interest fixed his eyes on a piece of paper with calculations. However, his absent-mindedness didn’t escape Zo’s notice.

“Look, just go to Forli, tempt the count away from wifey for a quickie, and then we’ll be able to take care of business without further hindrance. Sforza wants the statue, but so far gets only amorous sighs not even addressed to him.” 

“Zo, shut up,” Leonardo resented half-heartedly. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you saying you’re not going to Riario’s place?” Zo asked archly.

“No, why, I’m definitely going. But first I must finish the work.”

“Yeah, I see. Riario’s going to wait for your visit to a ripe old age unless someone finishes him off before that.”

“Bite your tongue,” Leonardo murmured, glancing over at the huge work table full of papers covered with numbers, let alone the scattering of sketches, lumps of clay and samples of bronze alloy. “In fact, you’re talking about him more than I am. Perhaps, you should do him the honor of your own visit?” 

“Certainly!” Zo shot back, not a bit embarrassed. “Since it’s obviously me who can retell his scrawl by heart.”

“But you really can.”

“Because you’ve dinned it into my ears, for the record. ‘Dearest Leonardo’,” his friend quoted, making a hilarious face. “Did his wife manage to teach him some politeness by hitting him over the head with a cauldron?”

Leonardo snickered inadvertently. Zo’s assumption didn’t seem that unbelievable. People said the countess was as unbridled as she was beautiful, and that she preferred horse riding and hunting to embroidery and dancing. The dame like that was perfectly able to force Riario under her heel. Leonardo felt the urge to leave for Forli immediately – to get acquainted with Caterina and admire the rare sight of Riario under her heel. 

“I hope your court post does not feel as a burden to you,” Zo continued, without noticing his thoughtfulness this time. “Even in this loftily polite note he found where to sting you, the snake.”

Leonardo heaved a discreet sigh. He didn’t have a leg to stand on here. The letter of recommendation addressed to the Duke of Milan was the result of their collaborative work, his and Zo’s. Without a doubt, they had brought together their skills, and the resulting missive had turned out very ambitious.

Just in case, Leonardo had taken with him the lyre of his own invention which only he knew how to play. However, it had become clear that his creative gifts were far more interesting for Il Moro than mobile bridges and drainage of canals. Leonardo was constantly distracted from working on the things he was really interested in by demands to organize another court festivity or decorate something. If Leonardo mentioned defensive moats, the duke remembered that there weren’t enough _berceaux _in the garden; if Leonardo touched on the topic of the city redevelopment (the idea he’d come up with after the outbreak of the Black Death three years earlier) the duke demanded a splendorous stage performance.

And so on and so forth.

At least, it was a good thing that Sforza kept supporting the equestrian statue project with unabated enthusiasm while Leonardo worked on the clay model and Zo experimented with alloys of all kinds.

“Be that way!” Leonardo leapt to his feet. “I’m going to Sforza and begging his permission to head for Forli this very day.”

“I’m with you,” Zo joined in.

“Could it be that you conceive feelings for the count?” Leonardo feigned surprise.

“And most tender ones. Especially after he stabbed three men to death almost on top of me.”

They left the studio and walked towards the audience chamber, squabbling good-naturedly. Immediately they were tailed by a boy named Gian Giacomo and nicknamed Salai. He’d become Leonardo’s apprentice only a short time ago and managed to antagonize his entire coterie. However, Leonardo liked him – if only for his appearance: the boy was nice-looking, spry and bright-eyed, with an unruly tousle of blond hair. He reminded Leonardo a little of Nico as a child.

So he just stroked the boy’s small tight curls in passing, as if he patted a dog, and pushed him slightly in the back so that Salai kept going about his business and didn’t get in the way.

Zo followed the boy with his eyes disdainfully and, vexed, spat into a gilded vase at the wall. 

“You could just as well pat me on the head, my hair’s curly, too,” he snorted. “Also you may want to check your purse. Probably, your _barboncino _managed to crook something again.”

“He was just going by.”

“When I was a kid, I went by in markets exactly like that,” Zo pointed out. “This little devil’s trying to steal even from me, but the tail’s too small to wag the dog, I suppose. I catch him one more time – I throw him out of the window into the moat, there he can steal scales from fish, they’re shiny, too.”

Ludovico Sforza was hosting a reception, though it was drawing to a close, so the guards ordered them to wait.

Leonardo and Zo leaned against the cold wall.

“It’s actually Riario’s wife I’m interested in, not him,” Zo returned to their interrupted topic.

“Without a doubt,” Leonardo snorted.

“That’s not it.” Zo jabbed his elbow into Leonardo’s ribs. “Reportedly, what she cooks in her pots and cauldrons is not just soup for her husband. We could share… skills.”

“Under one blanket so as not to feel cold in the process.” Leonardo winked.

“You have only one thing on your mind, Leo! Look, the ambassadors are leaving, go and ask the duke’s permission for that visit, for I’m pretty afraid of turning my back on you.”

“Are we really talking about a back here?”

Zo kicked him, so Leonardo entered the hall at a speed which was a bit higher than the one rules of court etiquette dictated. However, Ludovico Sforza was in great spirits and didn’t notice the misdeed.

“Ah, sweetest Leonardo!” he exclaimed. “How is your health?”

“Thank you, honorable signore, I enjoy good health.”

Sforza wanted to add something else, but Leonardo interrupted him in a pretty impolite way, naturally fearing that the duke would find another assignment for him for the next few days. 

“My loyal assistant Zoroaster and I would like to obtain your permission for a temporary absence. We’re going to visit Forli in order to…”

“In order to offer your condolences to my dear niece personally?” Sforza raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t imagine you knew each other.”

Leonardo’s thoughts were busy with the further phrasing of his request so he was slow to understand the duke’s words.

“Condolences?” he asked obtusely.

“Yes, in relation to the untimely demise of her husband. Wait a bit, I have the letter here…”

Leaning over the wide armrest of his chair, Sforza started going through the papers on his table. Suddenly, Leonardo felt as if he, after flying up high to the clouds, got engulfed by the heavenly fire and now was falling down, into the darkness of a narrow maelstrom. Leonardo thought he’d faint, but he came round on his feet; Zo was propping him up from behind and muttering something in his ear, while a sheet of thin paper was in his hands. He must have snatched it out of the duke’s hand in that dizzy moment. While he was running his eyes through the lengthy routine greetings, his vision cleared and the lines written in elegant round letters stopped being blurred. Waiving off Zo, Leonardo read aloud.

“It is with utmost grief that I have to inform you that my beloved spouse Girolamo died unexpectedly in the evening of April, 14, under the circumstances described below…”

He didn’t finish. Sforza grabbed the piece of paper out of his hands with pretty astonishing speed and said apologetically that the circumstances of Count Riario’s death were a political secret and therefore of no interest for a court artist and engineer. Leonardo, still flabbergasted, reached for the letter, meaning to tear it from the duke’s well-groomed fingers – he had to know what had happened to Riario! – but Zo took him by the elbows and, apologizing profusely, dragged him straight out the door. 

“Hey! Someone! Salai, you little brat, idling around again? Help me take your master to his chamber. You see, he doesn’t feel well.”

Leonardo went limp and let them bring him to the studio and drop into the chair. Hustling Salai out the door, Zo locked it and poured some wine into a goblet. Then he thought a bit – and brought the whole pitcher.

“Okay, Leo, you need a drink. Or rather, you need to become dead-drunk.”

“I don’t want it.” Leonardo pushed the goblet aside.

He could hear buzzing in his ears, an even high sound, obnoxious like an annoying fly.

“Under the circumstances…” he mumbled.

“Your count was killed, those are the ‘circumstances’.” Zo shrugged and emptied the goblet Leonardo had rejected. “If the duke mentioned a political secret then it’s clearly not gout to blame.”

Riario had waited for his visit. He hadn’t wanted the answer, just the visit. But Leonardo kept working. To a ripe old age, as Zo had said, unless someone…

Leonardo burst into laughter.

“What?”

“He… didn’t wait…” Leonardo managed, wiping away tears. “Just as… you said… someone… did finish him off after all…”

A new bout of laughter almost doubled him. Zo lifted the pitcher and approached him with a threatening expression.

“Leo, if you don’t drink at least half of it right now, I’ll take my largest funnel and…”

Leonardo snatched the pitcher, concentrated so as not to choke and firmly intended to drink all the way down, but he made exactly one sip. The buzzing in his ears suddenly died away, replaced by intense clear silence. And then Leonardo remembered. 

“Zo!” He sprang to his feet, dropping the pitcher on the floor. “Where’s the letter?”

“Leo, goddammit… I’m going to bring more wine and fetch a fu…”

“Shove the funnel up you know what and help me find the letter,” Leonardo ordered.

Zo flung up his hands helplessly and started to dig through many-days piles of paper on the work table.

Leonardo turned the whole studio upside down and almost gave his friend a nervous breakdown, but finally the letter was found in the lining of a cape thrown on the stool.

_Dearest Leonardo,_

_Keenly aware of the fact how long ago the Lord decided we were not destined to share a path, and taking into account our past contradictions and mutual misunderstandings, I am, however, taking the liberty of inviting you to share a humble meal with me and my spouse Caterina. We’d be delighted if you could grace with your presence at our family estate, Rocca di Ravaldino, in Forli at any time you regard convenient._

_I hope you are in good health and your court post does not feel a burden to you._

_I am not demanding your answer, merely looking forward to your visit._

_Count of Bosco, Lord of Imola and Forli_

_Girolamo Riario della Rovere_

_The year of our Lord 1488_

_April the Twentieth_

Leonardo reread the last line thrice to be sure.

“Zo, you can see it too?”

“Yep.” Zo who was reading the letter over Leonardo’s shoulder scratched his head. “Did he write this invitation… erm… a week after his death?”

Notes:

1 Berceaux - (Fr) garden arches.

2 Barboncino - (It) poodle.


	2. Chapter 2

Zo brought more wine and, though it was a bit too early, charitably speaking, to celebrate Riario’s sudden resurrection, Leonardo became lighter of heart.

“What other options do we have?” Zo asked himself and answered in a similar fashion, “A great lot of them! For example, the letter was written not by him, but someone who’d decided to lure you to Forli.”

“First, it was written by him.” Leonardo looked at his friend over the magnifying glass he used to peruse the sprawling sharp letters. “I remember his handwriting well. The manner here is facile, not strained as it looks when someone attempts to counterfeit writing. Second, who would use Riario to lure me to Forli? Only a handful of people ever know that any other feeling than passionate hatred exists between us. You, Nico… Also Sixtus. But he’s long dead. Maybe signora Cereta…”

Zo spluttered with laughter, spilling his wine.

“What else?”

“I think I know what happened. During these years, Riario couldn’t stop raving to his wife about you, then signora Cereta visited them, but you know she had her eye on him, too…”

Leonardo started to realize what was coming, but he just shook his head, hiding his smile.

“Long story short, they both got jealous,” Zo continued, “so they conspired, stabbed Riario to death so that no one could have him, but before that they had made him write this letter with the cunning intention to get rid of you, too.”

“My, Zo!” Leonardo raised his goblet with mock admiration. “I’m going to take my lyre and sing of your talents in solving crimes. Why didn’t you become a police official?”

“I’m way too good for this.” Zo gave a playful bow. “Jokes aside, we should get Caterina’s letter. Maybe, they didn’t really finish off the count and his wife decided to cover for him and wait for the dust to settle. He’s like a cat with nine lives after all, remember?”

“Well, perhaps you’re right…”

Only in his recollection, death had had her claws in Riario not once nor twice but more, and each time the man had slipped through her cold fingers, leaving behind a patch of his skin and obtaining a few new scars.

“I’ll steal the letter tonight,” Zo stated.

“No!” Leonardo retorted vigorously. “Sforza will order your execution and I need you alive.”

“To fetch you wine and melt bronze?” Zo inquired.

“Exactly,” Leonardo nodded seriously. “You know it.”

They exchanged understanding smiles after which Zo slammed his hand on the table.

“Oh! Send your little devil! Promise him a handful of aniseed balls and he’ll go even to the underworld. If something happens to him, no one will care anyway.” 

Leonardo only gave him a glance of reproof.

“Okay,” Zo gave in. “I’ll sniff around in squares and taverns, ask people. Someone must know something. I’ve become a hermit here, just like you.”

“Great. I’ll be packing then. Anyway, we must find out what happened.” Leonardo rubbed his forehead. “Look, did Sforza allow us to go? I don’t remember for some reason.”

“Leo.” The look on Zo’s face was awfully familiar. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I haven’t done anything stupid since I left Florence. It’s time to go back to the good old days!”

His stupor and grief were washed away by the seething wave of hope and excitement. He wanted to do something reckless like in his youth. To start trouble with guards and shoot up the scaffolding many cubits off the ground, enjoying the thrill of the chase. To pull up roots and travel to the complete unknown. Or at least to get on the table.

“Jerk,” Zo muttered, watching Leonardo crawling around on the table on his hands and knees, picking the most important drawings and designs. “But it seems I missed this jerk a bit…” 

***

They hit the road early in the morning, taking only what they needed most. A sleepy Salai had whined and clung to Leonardo’s stirrup, but Leonardo had flatly refused to take him on such a dangerous venture. Besides, they had a four-day ride ahead and Zo would nag them both to death.

The travelers had plenty of time to talk. 

Zo found out and told Leonardo – in blood-curdling details, needless to say – what exactly had happened in Forli on the 14th day of April. Riario had been alone, resting after dining in the Room of the Nymphs in the government palace when he had been attacked by six armed men from the Orsi family. The assassins had stabbed him with their swords and daggers almost beyond recognition. Ripping the clothes from the corpse, they had hurled the naked dead body off the balcony into the square where a crowd holding no affection for their lord had almost torn him into pieces. Riario could have suffered the fate of Jacopo Pazzi, but the Brotherhood of Death monks had picked up his body and brought it to the cathedral. The conspirators had started looting the palace, but Caterina and her children had managed to escape and return to the well-fortified family castle. 

“Well…” Leonardo shuddered. “If that’s true, ‘didn’t finish off’ version is clearly wrong.”

“No one would survive this,” Zo agreed. “Except Vlad, speak not of him.”

“How’s the city now?” Leonardo asked. “Are we going to arrive in the midst of another riot?”

Zo hesitated a bit.

“It’s not yet clear,” he admitted. “No one knows for sure. It seems like things quieted down on their own. Riario’s eldest son is to be the next ruler, but Caterina will act as a regent ‘til the heir comes of age.”

Leonardo hummed. The whole story was really weird.

They had no choice but to come up with the most varied speculations, trying to brighten up the monotony of the long unremarkable journey. That was what they actually did, contriving more and more improbable explanations.

It brought the mystery no further toward solving, but at least provided some variation to the hours of riding. 

***

Tired and covered with dust, they entered Forli early in the afternoon. Zo suggested they should go around the city and head for the castle which sat at some distance, but Leonardo wanted to sound out the situation and atmosphere in the city. Besides, probably a loose-tongued youth or a nosy woman would tell them for a few small coins what was happening. The citizens knew best. And with any luck, the travelers would meet someone who had seen the body firsthand. 

“Or even tried to tear a piece of it,” Leonardo’s inner voice added darkly.

Leonardo chased this thought away. He decided to hope for the better as long as there was the slightest chance.

The weather was lovely, sunny and not too hot, but the streets were empty: no vendors, no beggars, no ubiquitous urchins. Though, there wasn’t any heavy oppressive silence typical for places devastated by wars and pestilence, either. People did live here. They just seemed to prefer staying at home unless they really had to go outside. 

Weaving in and out of the narrow streets, they went to the city’s main square and Leonardo finally noticed people – human figures were visible here and there. However, it became clear it wouldn’t do to go questioning them; people were walking hastily, keeping close to walls, and no one even looked at the visitors.

“First I thought they were all dead here,” Zo uttered with a thoughtful air. “But now I think Caterina started revenging for her husband and overdid it a bit.”

“Speaking of revenge,” Leonardo nodded. “Look.”

A grim spectacle unfolded in front of them: near the government palace there were rows of big dark bundles resembling cocoons spun by a monstrous spider. Leonardo caught stench in a gust of wind, but even without it, he guessed the contents of the bundles.

“I thought there were six of them,” Zo muttered with a grimace.

Leonardo didn’t count the bodies, but it was clear there were more of them here, much more. Apparently, Caterina hadn’t confined herself to the assassins and her fury had fallen on their families, too.

So Riario had been killed? 

But murder attempts were revenged, too, and brutally.

After this brief internal dialogue Leonardo chose to focus on the bodies. Or rather on the question of why they were wrapped in fabric. This was about intimidation, sending a message, so even if the poor bastards had endured severe torture before death no one would have covered the corpses, quite the opposite.

The horses started fidgeting, jibbing, stamping.

“Let’s get closer,” Leonardo decided.

They dismounted their horses, tied them downwind and approached the palace. Though Leonardo was used to the smell of death, his eyes began watering all the same.

“I have some good news for you, Leo. Riario is certainly alive: it’s very like him to go and just massacre half the city,” Zo joked darkly, covering his nose with his sleeve unintentionally. “Or his wifey is an equally lovely lady.”

Leonardo snorted absently, closely inspecting the bundles one after another. The fabric was thick and stiff, but still covered with big dark stains – either of liquids emitted by the dead or…

“I can’t understand one thing: why they are wrapped like this?” Zo frowned.

“Give me a hand.” Leonardo picked one of the bundles and prepared to hold it from below. “I’ll hold it and you cut the rope.” 

“In broad daylight in the city square?” Zo raised his eyebrows. “My friend, I understand that you’ve recovered your sense of adventure, but you probably should start with something smaller than stealing corpses. We can take some booze without paying or filch a couple of bed sheets or…”

“There’s no one here, and even if there is someone they don’t care,” Leonardo interrupted. “Cut it.”

Heaving a deep sigh, Zo cut the rope with his sword, caught the falling body and helped Leonardo drag it aside and lower it to the ground.

Kneeling in the mix of sand and chopped straw, Leonardo took his dagger and quickly cut the stiff fabric open.

There was a meaningful silence for a few moments: both of them were staring at the body owlishly for it turned out quite hard to identify as a human body. The reason for this wasn’t even decomposition.

“Wow,” Zo said finally. “Did they set dogs on them? Though I’d rather say tigers…”

Apparently, if the body hadn’t been wrapped in fabric its flesh would have fallen to the ground like autumn leaves.

Hemming vaguely, Leonardo started a more thorough examination. The body was heavily maimed as if really mauled by wild beasts. Besides, the edges of the wounds were uneven and frayed – clearly not a deed of torturer’s instruments. 

“I think it’s done by dogs,” Leonardo said with uncertainty. “Definitely not by tigers. All the bones are intact, see? A tiger has a big mouth and huge fangs: it wouldn’t maul a person without breaking anything. On the other hand…”

“What?” Zo urged when no continuation followed.

“I don’t know,” Leonardo admitted. “All this does look weird.”

“Are you sure you still want to go to that castle? What if Caterina entertains guests by setting dogs on people as Vlad did?”

“We survived Vlad, we’re going to survive the countess.” Leonardo jumped to his feet and wiped the dagger on his cloak. “Let’s go.”

The count and countess’ family estate was not just a castle, but rather a citadel. Stone buildings, squat and massive, encircled by walls and a wide moat, sat on the hill, looking both inaccessible and blatantly unwelcoming.

“Riario’s holed up well enough,” Zo whistled. “It’s obvious his people liked him… Like. Liked. Ugh, how on earth do I know?”

“Well, we’ll find it out.” Leonardo dismounted his horse. 

They stretched their legs and had a light meal. A fresh wind picked up and a tangible chill started to be felt from the duckweed-covered water. The sun descended towards the west, but no one emerged to meet the guests or at least inquire as to the aim of their visit. The wide gate was closed shut. Zo tried calling out, taking the opportunity to apply very disrespectful epithets to Riario, ostensibly to make the count answer for sure. But to no avail. Then Leonardo and Zo split up and each of them walked a semicircle along the wall, but when they met again the information they exchanged was exactly the same: the moat and the solid wall. 

“Why does someone invite guests if they cannot come in?” Zo asked edgily when dusk fell and they returned to their chosen location. “Didn’t you happen to bring the designs of siege weapons with you? We’ll have to set camp here ‘til you build them because I cannot see any watchers on the wall.”

“I have something better,” Leonardo smiled.

He rooted around in a bag, found a small package and, unfolding the fabric carefully, pulled out a mechanical bird.

“We’ve already celebrated Easter.”

“I’ve improved its design,” Leonardo explained, after which he took a spyglass and started mentally calculating the distance to the biggest building. “So if you stop talking while I work very soon my dove will head right for that open window.”

“Hurry or it’ll get dark and your dove will fly right into that wall,” Zo snorted. “Or you’ve taught it to see in the dark?”

“I wish I had,” Leonardo sighed. “Come on, Zo, stop distracting me.”

Zo sniffed incredulously, but shut up and resumed talking only after Leonardo had finished the fine adjustments and proceeded to wind the mechanism.

“Look, what if there’s no one there and it stays unnoticed?”

“Actually it’ll be noticed wherever it lands,” Leonardo grinned. “In fact, I constructed it for war purposes, to distract the enemy, but since a demand arose…”

“What do you mean?” Zo sounded puzzled.

“You’ll see.” Leonardo threw the mechanical bird in the air, metal feathers sparkling in the light of the lamp. The dove flew over the wall confidently and disappeared in the darkness.

A few moments later there was a deafening thundering sound, magnified by an echo, and the window Leonardo had chosen burst with multicolored lights: something was crackling, popping and exploding, some streaks of light were shooting out with a high-pitch sound and leaving bright arches over the castle yard.

“Oh, I see now,” Zo nodded after the last flashes had died out. “Easter pales before this. All this noise will rouse Riario even if he’s resting in a grave, not in bed.”

At last some movement started behind the wall, and still Zo and Leonardo had to wait a while before the gate was opened and a drawbridge was lowered over the moat. 

“Come in!” an unfamiliar voice shouted loudly.

A vast yard was paved with cobblestone and brightly lit with torches. Leonardo entered first, hurrying his snorting horse and suppressing the urge to drop the reins and break into a run. The visitors were met by a small group of people in the center of which – Leonardo’s heart started beating in his throat – there stood Girolamo Riario in person, holding the soot-smeared dove carefully. 

“You are insane, artista,” he said as if the last time they’d seen each other was yesterday, not almost a decade ago. “I was sleeping and suddenly this thing flew into my chamber. What if it fell on me?”

“I didn’t think about that,” Leonardo breathed out happily.

“I see you have not changed at all,” Riario shook his head.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Leonardo continued. “The rumors said…”

“I am happy I am alive, too,” Riario observed grumpily. “Especially given the fact that you have almost rectified this situation.”

Zo who’d come to a stop behind Leonardo chuckled gloatingly, and Riario turned to him.

“Ah, Zoroaster. I did not invite you so feel free to decline my hospitality as you did last time. I will not be offended.”

“I’m here to see Caterina, not you,” Zo bristled up immediately.

“My wife?” Riario asked. 

“On business,” Zo added. “I’d say, of state importance.”

Riario’s blank glare bored a hole through him for a few moments. The left corner of his mouth was quivering. Hardly listening to their bickering, Leonardo was observing Riario’s face closely. Probably, daylight could reveal more, but in the glimmering firelight it seemed that the years hadn’t aged the count at all: he was slightly disheveled after the sudden waking and apparently had got dressed in a hurry, but he looked sprightly, his dark eyes bright with the same wry mirth. 

“Only if on business,” Riario decided finally. “Just make sure to keep your state importance in your pants or it might be promptly chopped off.”

“You better watch your own pants instead of looking into other men’s ones,” Zo fended off.

He wisely didn’t get beyond the verbal attack, but the guards looked at him askance and Leonardo tensed though Riario stayed perfectly unperturbed, only pursed his mouth a bit. However, in his look the desire to push Zo into the moat could be read as clearly as if written with red ink.

“Won’t the countess grace us with her presence?” Leonardo asked quickly, trying to turn the conversation to more peaceful matters.

“She is calming down a maid who was unfortunate enough to be passing by my room.” Riario shifted his attention to him readily. “Not everyone is so lucky as to have been introduced to your inventions beforehand.”

Leonardo snorted. Well, indeed, in comparison with the time when Riario had been introduced to a multi-barrelled cannon at point-blank range, the dove and some fireworks were small evils. 

“We were not expecting you… and Zoroaster so late.” Riario handed the bird to Leonardo.

Leonardo touched his hands accidentally while receiving the mechanism. The bird was still warm, Riario’s hands, not covered with gloves, dry and cool.

A stableman came running and took their horses after which Riario turned round and motioned the guests to follow him. They headed for the castle whose window Leonardo had aimed at. 

“You didn’t wait for us at all,” Zo snorted. “We arrived long before sundown, it’s just that someone’s as deaf as a post and, it seems to me, feels less desire to leave the walls than a turtle to leave its shell.”

“Zoroaster, save your wits for later.” Riario managed to radiate disdain with only his back. “If you are going to deal with my wife you will need it.”

Leonardo thought that the rumors about Caterina weren’t exaggerated. Zo seemed to think the same for he stopped talking obediently.

“I was sleeping,” Riario explained reluctantly. “The guards saw and heard you of course, but they have orders not to let in anyone.”

“You were sleeping for half a day?” Leonardo asked, surprised.

“Due to the regrettable events you have mentioned my health suffered, alas,” Riario admitted.

“So there was an assassination attempt, right?” Leonardo asked.

In this case the information Zo had acquired was massively exaggerated. If Riario had been ‘stabbed with swords and daggers’ he wouldn’t have been able to even leave his bed to meet the guests. As for the defenestration, even the thought seemed outright ridiculous now. The count moved easily and freely, without the slightest effort, he didn’t limp nor tried to protect his arms or body. No one could say he had any health problems. Where exactly had he been injured?

“We can discuss it tomorrow.” In the second-floor hall Riario stopped and, beckoning a maid standing near the wall, pointed towards Zo half-heartedly. “Guianna, see this signore to his room.” 

“See you in the morning.” Zo clapped Leonardo on the shoulder.

Taking his eyes off his friend’s back, fading in the semi-darkness, Leonardo turned to the count.

“Come, I’ll show you to your chamber,” Riario smiled for the first time, soft and slightly tiredly. “Forgive me, Leonardo, my hospitality deserves dispraise.”

“Do not apologize. I’m surprised you’re willing to receive guests at all.”

Riario started walking down the poorly lighted corridor to the left wing and Leonardo followed him as if spellbound, looking into the count’s perfectly straight back. 

“Not the worst way to get distracted from unpleasant memories.” Riario looked at him over the shoulder with a quick grin. “You will distract me, won’t you, artista? You always did it rather well.”

Leonardo smiled in return.

“Should I stage a comedy with quaint backdrops? Or draw funny pictures? Anytime! I’ve become skilled at it after six years in the court of the Duke of Milan.”

The room was spacious and quite richly appointed, but there wasn’t even ash in the fireplace and overall, the lodging looked pretty neglected. The greater part of it was occupied with a bed fit for a king. Leonardo was afraid to imagine how much dust and bed-bugs had found shelter under its faded canopy.

On the second thought, bed-bugs were most likely to have died of starvation long ago. 

“Or maybe I should tie you to a tree again?” Leonardo continued after a short pause. “I reckon Zo mentioned that captivity had entertained you.”

“Dunce,” Riario sighed and waved his hand. “Not you, your associate.”

He needlessly looked into the fireplace, tapped the upper blanket and sneezed delicately like a cat.

“Dammit. I’ll send the maid here right now.”

“Don’t bother,” Leonardo tried to reject the offer. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Don’t I know it,” Riario muttered and added louder, “I beg you, do not say no. It’s too late for cleaning, but at least you need a fire. This room is cold even at the height of summer, and it isn’t summer yet.”

There was no point in further arguing. Leonardo started feeling cold even in his outdoor clothes, and the bed, in spite of plenty of blankets, looked chill and uninviting.

“What’s the reason for that attempted assassination?” Leonardo asked when Riario was about to walk out the door. “Did you kill the wrong person?”

Riario looked back quite absently. Then he rolled his eyes.

“Ah, I wish I had. Such a small matter. However, as I’ve already said we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Goodnight, artista. Guianna will start a fire.”


	3. Chapter 3

Leonardo was coming down to breakfast accompanied by the same maid (he wondered if the count and countess had more) when he heard hasty footsteps behind him and turned to meet an unhappy-looking disheveled Zo. 

“The bastard wants me dead,” his friend complained. “The room isn’t heated, the dust balls are as big as my fist, there aren’t even any bed-bugs. They either starved to death or died of cold I suppose.” He coughed emphatically and wiped his nose with his palm.

Leonardo hardly suppressed his smile. Apparently, the past years had done nothing to assuage the count’s dislike for Zo. Or he hadn’t liked Zo’s attention to his wife. Anyway, in Zo’s case, there had been clearly no offer to get the place in at least some semblance of order.

“Worse yet, I wasn’t called to breakfast!” his friend continued to seethe. “I’m glad I have a nose for this sort of things. And also an ear. And… and…”

“And a sense obscure to mere mortals,” Leonardo prompted.

“Exactly,” Zo agreed seriously.

Leonardo could make the joke about them grown soft in the duke’s palace for back in the day dust and cold used to be the lesser evil, but then he decided against making Zo even angrier otherwise there would be another quarrel with Riario. This quarrel would happen anyway, probably. If it wasn’t a life and death situation Riario and Zo didn’t know how to communicate in a different way. 

The dining room was bathing in the tender light flowing through the high narrow windows paned with colored glass. Normally, Leonardo would have been distracted by the stained-glass windows or dispersion of sun rays or the particles of dust floating in columns of light or at least by the countess – a beautiful woman with very white skin, a long neck and amazing copper-colored hair – but now his whole attention was focused on Riario.

In the daylight the count did look not very healthy – paleness could be seen beneath the spring tan and there were bluish shadows under his eyes; as for the latter, they were sunken and too bright as if in a fever – but that was all. At the dawn of their acquaintance he had constantly looked feverish, too. He used to be impetuous like a nervous hound, with restless eyes and a pained smile. Only a few years later he’d steadied down, though his face had gained even more resemblance to that of a martyr or an ascetic. 

The owners of the castle left the table to meet the guests. Riario was full of such calm grandeur that he could probably pass as a cardinal or even a Pope. _He’s not exactly the type, too little fat_, Leonardo thought spitefully in order to break the spell. Riario hardly had enough flesh on his bones, never mind fat; his nose and cheek-bones were so sharp one could probably cut oneself touching them. Leonardo was in the middle of discerning silver hairs in the count’s neatly trimmed beard when the silence was broken by a velvet deep voice.

“Messer Leonardo, has my husband got sauce on his face? We have not even started our meal.”

Caterina’s voice was older than its possessor. Leonardo had thought it would be high and clear like a little bell. 

“I beg your pardon, signora.” He took her waiting hand gently and touched the back of it with his lips.

The countess’s palm he could sense against his hand was rough, very unlike those of a pampered lady, but also unlike the palms of a commoner who had got calluses from washing and handling heavy baskets. That was the rough palm of a hunter or a soldier.

It looked like the rumors were true – again.

Why then had these very rumors distorted the events in the government palace so ruthlessly?

After the introduction ceremony Leonardo and Zo sat down at the table at a decent distance from the spouses. Two more maids joined Guianna, but Leonardo still remained under the impression that the servants in the castle weren’t numerous. 

“If you keep staring at him like that she’ll poison you,” Zo said very quietly while Caterina was giving instructions about the second course. “As a consequence, I won’t be able to get in her good graces and charm alchemical secrets out of her. Control your feelings, Leo.”

Leonardo, maintaining an overall friendly expression on his face, kicked him under the table. Zo started on his seat and earned quite a wintry glare from Riario, though the man refrained from any comments in the presence of his wife. 

The food was fairly decent, but the breakfast conversation was going awkwardly. In the court Leonardo had learnt to have a fluid small-talk, but now he was more interested in the details of the assassination attempt which wasn’t the best subject to talk about during the meal. He commended flat cakes with cheese and early melons, let fall a few praiseful words about the defensive capacity of the fortress and even forced a compliment to the frescoes on the back wall of the dining room though those were outright ugly. Zo next to him didn’t say a word, just kept helping himself to the meat dishes Leonardo had moved aside. Riario was silent, too, and ate little. Caterina answered laconically to Leonardo’s vain attempts to keep the conversation alive, but when he started grinding out compliments to the frescoes she took pity on him. 

“You do not have to do this, Leonardo. Girolamo told me enough about the brilliant Leonardo da Vinci and his impeccable taste so I understand that for your eyes these paintings are horrible.”

“Signora Cereta,” Zo mouthed, catching his eye, and Leonardo barely suppressed an outburst of impertinent laughter, recalling the conceivable ‘collusion’ of the two jealous women.

“I’m flattered, immensely flattered…” he muttered chokingly, hiding behind his goblet.

“Besides, you are famous all over Italy,” Caterina added, unaware of his impropriate thoughts. “I know that you are used to animated dinner conversations, but everything is provincial and boring here, we do not hold receptions and there are usually just two of us at the table. So eat in peace and do not torture yourself. ”

The rest of the breakfast went in silence, still a bit awkward, but far more companionable than forced almost-monologues.

After the meal Caterina, smiling, turned to Leonardo.

“Well, I suppose you will want to steal Girolamo for a short while? I am sure you have memories to share.”

Indeed, they had memories to share. Except that three-quarters of their shared past was something Leonardo would prefer not to remember. The journey to the edge of the world full of uncertainty, pain and disappointment or the excruciating days in the company of the Sinner weren’t nostalgic.

“I will steal your friend then.” Caterina nodded to Zo who was munching a sausage hastily and almost choked on it, realizing that the countess was addressing him. “Girolamo mentioned he had some urgent business with me.”

Now Zo looked frankly bewildered and apparently was trying to make out what exactly urgent business he had with Caterina.

Leaving him to weasel his way out of this situation, Leonardo and Riario went out to the yard. The stableman who appeared to have been waiting for this moment brought the horses – a big black stallion and Leonardo’s bay mare.

“How did you sleep?”

“Like a log,” Leonardo answered honestly and patted the horse reaching for him on her long arched muzzle. “I started to sleep more, four hours isn’t enough anymore.”

“We are growing old,” Riario sighed. 

“I can see that,” Leonardo said sarcastically, watching the count get on his horse with ease, hardly putting his foot in the stirrup.

Among other things, it was perfectly clear that no wounds bothered Riario. Unless he was feigning it faultlessly which was unlikely.

“Hey, wait, is it the same Andalusian?” Leonardo took a closer look at Riario’s horse. “Your loyalty is to be envied.”

“Well, I must be loyal at least to someone.” Riario shrugged, bent over in the saddle and scratched the horse’s silky black neck. 

“Commendable. Make sure not to let it slip in front of your wife,” Leonardo snorted.

Riario laughed politely.

The guards opened the gate and lowered the bridge. The horses, side by side, walked leisurely down the path which soon led them to an olive grove and started snaking among gnarled tree trunks.

“So what about you?” Riario asked after a long silence. “Aren’t you bound by ties of matrimony yet?”

“No,” Leonardo chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ve been tied too often back in my days. I don’t feel like doing that again yet. Well, I took a new apprentice recently…”

“Uh-huh,” Riario said pointedly.

“He’s eight, you idiot.” Leonardo wanted to kick him, but decided against sudden movements for fear of spooking the horses.

“My wife was ten,” Riario pointed out pensively. “I mean when they were going to marry us. Although shortly after that Father demanded my services, then you drew me into your endless ventures and as a result during our wedding she was interested in her husband rather than dolls and sweets. Which was a relief.”

“Who drew whom into ventures?” Leonardo asked resentfully. “It was you who approached me about the key, wasn’t it?”

“So you are trying to say that you were standing in a quiet corner and almost licking that key by pure accident?” Riario chuckled.

“Did I ask you to follow me to the edge of the world? No, I didn’t,” Leonardo continued, turning a deaf ear to his comment.

“I had to be ahead of you, so it is your own fault,” Riario retorted. “Stop.”

“No, don’t ‘stop’ at me. Just remember how… Oh.” Leonardo drew the reins reflexively, stopped short and looked around. “That’s what you meant.”

At the very edge of the grove in the deep shade there was a long stone bench facing the surrounding hills, sunlit and covered with silver tree crowns.

They tied their horses to the branches and sat on the bench. Riario pulled a bottle of wine out of his bag: here they could pass it between them and drink straight from it, not having to care about court etiquette.

Riario drank deeply while Leonardo was silent, chewing his lip and watching movements of Adam’s apple on Riario’s long neck. When Riario lowered the bottle and wiped his lips with his sleeve Leonardo asked again, “What’s the reason for that attempted assassination?”

Riario smiled wryly.

“You will laugh. Taxes.”

“What?” Leonardo frowned.

He was prepared to hear about… well, if not about mass murder then about something like that.

“I knew you would laugh,” Riario observed, though in fact Leonardo didn’t even smile. “When I came to own this city I eliminated some taxes. A few years later it became necessary to impose them again. That’s it.”

The whole story sounded so conventional it was hard to believe. However, Leonardo was more preoccupied with something else.

“There’re absolutely wild rumors about your death,” he said without specifying anything. “How did you survive?”

Riario took another drink and fixed his eyes on the hills, either composing his thoughts or reliving those events. Leonardo was about to rephrase his question when Riario shrugged lopsidedly and answered with uncertainty, “I… don’t remember? Or rather I remember finishing work and laying down for a rest. Suddenly men armed with swords broke in…”

“How many?” Leonardo interjected.

Riario glanced at him, slightly surprised. His reaction was understandable: to express one’s sympathy, one didn’t need to pry out details as if at a trial. But Leonardo didn’t care about the count’s thoughts. 

“Being only half-awake, I imagined there was a whole crowd,” Riario admitted. “Later I was informed that there were six of them. So…”

“So?”

“So I was fighting them off until the guards arrived,” Riario explained with a touch of irritation. “Look, I do not remember. It seems like a dream now.”

“Alone and unarmed, you were fighting off six swordsmen?” Leonardo asked skeptically. “Yes, you told me you had been killing with your bare hands on that field, but there were only three of them, they didn’t attack you all at once and you could strike stealthily.”

“I had a dagger on me,” Riario objected lamely. “Besides, I came out of that fight with only minor injuries, but in the palace they wounded me pretty seriously.”

“Speaking of wounds,” Leonardo took him at his word. “Where exactly were you injured?”

“Does it really matter?” Riario was going to sip more wine, but paused with the bottle near his lips and squinted at Leonardo with suspicion. “What? I do not like the way you are looking at me, artista. As if you are about to lay me down on this very bench for examination.” 

Leonardo snorted. It was possible he could use the chance. He was really curious as to where and how a person could be injured so that not a trace was left just a month later.

“Do not worry, I heal like a dog.” Riario moved aside a bit though Leonardo hadn’t even inched in his direction. “I did not invite you here so that you could question me.”

“Why did you invite me then?” Leonardo enquired with genuine interest.

Riario gave him a nasty look, handed him the bottle and sat back demonstratively, poring over the landscape.

This time Leonardo chose not to persist. He followed Riario’s example, and soon a warm wind, the wine and the noise of leaves moving up in the trees got him drowsy. In spite of the good night’s sleep, Leonardo started drifting off, watching through his eyelashes silver waves of grass roll on the hills and a tender blue color of the sky over treetops give way to a fierce ultramarine on high.

“Could it be the Sinner?”

Leonardo flinched as if cold water rained down upon him.

“I mean he awakes when I am in danger,” Riario continued in a low voice. “But I thought you had healed me; he hadn’t appeared for many years.”

“Then he did a good thing for once,” Leonardo sighed.

He thought he had healed Riario, too.

_But ask any physician and he’ll tell you that old diseases can recur however diligently you tried to cure them. And those are just bodily ailments. Who knows what secrets a brain hides_…

The serenity of the landscape and the slumberous atmosphere had their due impact: Leonardo lost the desire to argue and extract the truth. At least, temporarily. 

“I began to perceive everything more or less clearly only upon the arrival of the guards and Ninni… I mean, Caterina,” Riario said as if continuing the conversation. “There was a lot of blood. I hurt like hell all over, but the pain somewhat cleared my head. A most terrific rumpus could be heard outside. One of the conspirators was next to me, dead, one more was killed by the guards, but the rest escaped. We needed to placate the crowd… It was Caterina’s idea. The first dead man showed some resemblance to me, he was thin, with dark hair, moustache and a short beard. They undressed and disfigured him so that no one was able to recognize him. They threw him off the balcony into the square. Later I heard he had been nearly torn apart by the mob.”

Riario shook his head with a wince. Apparently, even being accustomed to everyone’s hatred, he felt quite uncomfortable.

“The city was even more feverish than me. I spent some time lying ill in a small hidden room in the cathedral. After Caterina had managed to return to the castle I was brought here, too. She announced my death and took cruel revenge on the assassins…”

“Yes, we saw it,” Leonardo edged in. 

Riario was already alarmed by all the questioning so Leonardo chose not to further irritate him with the attempts to find out how the bodies had got such strange and terrifying mutilations.

“After that everything calmed down quite quickly,” Riario finished the story. “We do not know what we are going to do next yet. I cannot be cooped up in the castle so there is a rumor going about that my restless spirit, obsessed with vengeance, is skirting around the city.”

Well, this explanation – combined with the show executions – made the sombrous atmosphere in Forli more or less clear.

“They are scared out of their wits, the fools,” Riario added with dark satisfaction.

Leonardo diplomatically didn’t say anything. He could understand both sides.

“Probably I will have to go away for a while. Caterina will stay here and figure something out.” Riario’s voice suddenly became easier and brighter. “She is smart. No as smart as some particular geniuses, I am not pointing fingers, but…”

“Hey!” Leonardo played along. “You fell in love, count, didn’t you?”

“I am getting old,” Riario repeated.

Which was to be accepted as an affirmative reply. At least there was one thing he was fortunate at. Leonardo was genuinely happy for him.

“But why are we talking only about me?” Riario perked up. “How are you doing? I heard the Duke of Milan had a soft spot for you?”

“Even if he does I get my payment every once in a while,” Leonardo heaved a sigh. “Besides, I’m always busy with trifles. As soon as something worthwhile comes along Sforza decides that the second wall of the fifth pavilion in the third garden lacks a fresco or that another reception is due in a week and the house of Barbarigo held a theater piece of incomparable beauty recently, therefore, he needs the same performance, but even more exuberant.”

Riario’s smile was more amused than sympathetic, but Leonardo didn’t take any offence: he wasn’t complaining in complete seriousness.

“As I’ve already said I took an apprentice. He’s a handsome boy, but keeps stealing everything he can put his hands on. I’m really starting to wonder if it’s an illness of some kind.”

“I can think about someone when I hear these symptoms,” Riario chuckled.

“What?” It took Leonardo a moment to realize whom the count had hinted at. “Are you talking about Zo? Save it! He didn’t steal like that even in the days of his youth. Salai’s like a magpie, though. The only difference is that a magpie doesn’t exchange stolen things for sweets.”

“This name suits him,” Riario observed. “As for the symptoms, I am not a physician, but I can tell you for sure: they can be promptly cured by cutting off his right hand. Though he will be of little use for you as an apprentice.”

“Forget it,” Leonardo waved him off. “He’s just a child. He’ll probably mend his ways.”

“Probably,” Riario didn’t argue.

They sat on that bench for a long time, taking turns to sip wine, looking at the hills idly and exchanging a couple of phrases occasionally without any particular topic. Then Riario put the almost empty bottle on the grass, reclined his head on the back of the bench and seemingly dozed off.

Carefree and trustingly.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Leonardo repeated after a few long minutes of silence.

He didn’t expect the answer, but out of the tail of his eye he caught Riario swiftly raise the corner of his lips still wet with wine.


	4. Chapter 4

By the evening Leonardo and Zo became so bored of sitting in the sleepy gloomy castle that they went to the city, found a half-empty _osteria_ as far from the stinking square as possible and – pretty much to their own surprise – drank themselves into oblivion as they hadn’t done for a very long time.

Leonardo just remembered swigging down one mug after another, exchanging smiles with Zo, a comely tavern girl and the owner who had recognized ‘Signor Artista’, and then suddenly the narrow windows were dark, his cheek was pressed to the sticky tabletop, and the _osteria_ owner was shaking him vehemently by the shoulder.

“Wwwhah..?” He shook his head, trying to get rid of the hair falling in his face and thin mist before his eyes. “Alrdy… Clossss?”

His tongue kept faltering desperately, but the owner was accustomed to figuring out drunk talk.

“Long past time,” the man grumbled. “Where will you go, Signor da Vinci? It’s already dark.”

“’m fine!” Leonardo answered with a devil-may-care attitude. “Zo! Zo!” He thrust his hand blindly and poked something soft. 

This soft thing turned out to be Zo’s backside. Zo who had snuggled comfortably on the wide bench hummed and kicked him, babbling something about shameless sodomites. Fortunately, the words came out so unintelligibly that Leonardo was the only one to understand them, and only due to their long acquaintance.

“You’re too sloshed to walk”. The owner took in the scene and winced doubtingly. “To crawl, too. Do you even remember where you stayed? Besides, no one here pokes his nose outside after dark. You do this and you’re sure to get into trouble.”

“Spectah?” Leonardo recalled.

A struggle could be seen on the owner’s face. On the one hand, he was ashamed to admit his fear of the specter while on the other, he was eager to scare the visitors. Finally, the latter urge won.

“Did you hear that our wicked count had been killed the other day?” he asked in a low voice.

“Not the other day, but quite some time ago,” the girl corrected.

“Go to sleep, goose!” The owner shooed her away, and the girl retreated to the kitchen, looking insulted, but before that she hadn’t forgotten to make eyes at Leonardo.

Leonardo followed her with his eyes dreamily. He had to concentrate properly to recall what they were talking about. 

“So, it’s not bad enough that his wife slaughtered everyone she could reach in revenge, but he himself is still sneaking around and tearing innocent souls into pieces!” The owner uttered four last words in an ominous whisper and gawked his eyes for effect.

Even in his sorry state, Leonardo knew better than to mention that he had heard this very story just this morning from Riario himself who had been very much alive. So he only shook his head, almost falling over, and limited himself to a brisk ‘Awfl.’

“I can rent you a room upstairs for a night,” the owner offered, realizing that the clients were in no fit state to fully appreciate his story-telling talents. “On the cheap as if you were my kin. I’ll also take your horses to the stables.”

No matter how drunk Leonardo was, he didn’t believe in ‘cheap’, but then again they didn’t have much choice: he tried to stand up and understood that he would be lucky to get to the promised room with assistance and definitely wouldn’t be able to mount a horse. 

With great effort the tavern owner helped them, one by one, climb the narrow stairs to the second floor. Full of gratitude, Leonardo handed him a few coins he’d fished out of his purse without looking, after which he fell on the only wide pallet next to a snoring Zo, buried his face in musty bed sheets and dropped into sleep in a wink.

He snapped out of it just as smoothly. He thought he’d slept for only the blink of an eye, but the moon in the small window was floating high. For a long moment Leonardo eyed its round shining face, then he figured out what had woken him.

First, he really needed to relieve himself. Second, it was imperative to learn how fireflies made light.

Bumping into sparse furniture, Leonardo fumbled about the room, looking for his notes – he was dead sure he’d already made some. Failing to find his notebooks and papers, he finally remembered where he was.

Apparently, Leonardo was still blind drunk because without much thinking he climbed out of the window, almost getting stuck in the process, half crawled, half fell, into a narrow alley, and, holding onto vines, relieved himself against the wall and set out in search of fireflies. 

His naturalist part suggested that it would be logical to look for these little bugs in the groves outside the city, but the other part – probably the one which had consumed more alcohol – objected that the groves were dark and cold; and since in someone’s mythology fireflies were righteous souls they ought to be sought in a place of worship. Besides, the torches were burning here and there in the city and heavy foliage didn’t obstruct the light of the full moon.

Satisfied with its far-sightedness, Leonardo nodded contentedly to this latter part and headed for the cathedral. The city was completely silent. Even the guards were too afraid to patrol the streets. Walls and roofs were silver with moonlight. Initially Leonardo kept looking up, searching for insects, but after he tripped twice and almost stepped into a pile of manure, he started to watch where he was going. Besides, he remembered that he hadn’t brought any vessel for future captured fireflies and began to look around in the hope of seeing something suitable for this purpose in ditches and heaps of trash. In such a way, with stops and closer looks, he reached the dark massive building of the cathedral. 

The moon was sitting right on the top of the bell tower. Leonardo got distracted by its flat spotted face, regretting he hadn’t brought his spyglass. First he started wondering why the moon shone. Then there was a strange story passing through his mind which included the moon, an enamored oyster and a malicious crab. Then Leonardo remembered he hadn’t come here for the moon, crabs or oysters, so he focused on fireflies again. There weren’t any near the cathedral nor on its outer walls so Leonardo – very quietly lest he should scare his prospective prey – went inside. 

Moonlight was trickling through a small semicircular window above the altar. In the front of the nave a lit lamp sat and a lonely figure could be seen in the circle of dim light. A man was kneeling right on the floor.

Leonardo could recognize that back and poise anywhere.

So that was what Riario had meant saying ‘I cannot be cooped up in the castle’. Apparently, the count came here to pray at night and foolish citizens made up horror stories about him. 

Riario was loyal not only to his favorite horse – his loyalty to his God was to be marveled at. However scared the citizens could be of the specter, he took a big risk making his way through the nocturnal city whose dwellers would be immensely glad to kill him for the second time or even for the tenth. 

Leonardo didn’t want to reveal his presence. He decided to wait for Riario to finish his business and leave. His thoughts were still full of catching fireflies. Leonardo darted behind the last row of benches. Or rather, he intended to dart, but in reality his boot slipped on something, then both his feet stumbled on something soft and this soft thing grunted, quietly, but distinctively. On instinct, Leonardo hid in the shade, almost under the bench, and only then took a closer look. The pile on the floor was moving. But however hard he strained his eyes he couldn’t make out what it was.

Suddenly warm light fell on the floor. Leonardo was so deep in concentration, he hadn’t noticed Riario pick up the lamp and walk along the aisle to the door. Leonardo hunkered, waiting for him to pass, but the count came to a stop near the last row. Leonardo looked at Riario’s hand holding the lamp. He didn’t understand at first what exactly he saw, but when he did he almost wet himself. 

Its skin was gray like ash and covered with scabs, but what impressed Leonardo more was long pointed claws instead of fingernails. Leonardo looked up and regretted it immediately; on the sharp face, disfigured by gray flakes but still recognizable, the eyes were bloodshot. Not just lined with a netting of burst blood vessels like the Sinner’s, but dark red, wet, convex as if blood had filled them to the brim and now threatened to break the transparent membrane and gush out. These eyes were looking fixedly straight at him. 

Leonardo froze and held his breath. His insides turned into a block of marble.

But these dreadful eyes stayed absolutely indifferent, their look slipped off him as if he were empty space. Riario bent over, picked up the weakly shifting bundle with his free hand (this hand sported equally horrible claws and the bundle turned out to be a fat man, bound and gagged) and went outside, dragging his victim behind him.

It was close.

He hadn’t noticed Leonardo in dark shadows.

Praise God. 

For a few long moments Leonardo just sat there, paralyzed with fear, trying to remember how to breathe, then sneaked out of the door. From the tiny garden he could hear wet tearing noises and sickening squelching, but he no longer had the desire to figure out what was going on there.

He came to his senses halfway to the _osteria_. The block of marble which still felt cold inside suddenly shuddered heavily, came up to his throat, and Leonardo, staggering to the wall, leaned over a ditch. 

He felt better afterward, even his head became clearer. He could really use some water – to moisten his aching throat and to splash on his heated face.

_I’m still drunk_, Leonardo kept repeating to himself, _something like that has already happened to me in Florence_…

He remembered perfectly the unnerving images induced by opium, sleep deprivation and the emergence of a new enemy; streets cluttered with half-dressed dead bodies, Riario with a dagger, Riario wearing a shirt black with blood, clinging to his body; Riario with his tongue hanging out, unnaturally long; Riario with his eyes wide open and a mad grin and blood gushing from his mouth…

Today’s apparition was pale in comparison to those hallucinations.

Leonardo returned to the rented room stone-cold sober, wondering why on earth he had needed fireflies and why the hell he had decided to look for them in the church. 


	5. Chapter 5

They both woke up late and the morning didn’t feel particularly good. Zo kept leaning out of the window perilously and Leonardo had a headache which was induced not only by a hangover but also the absolute mess in his head: for some reason monsters, fireflies and oysters were mixed in one pile there.

“What on Earth does it have to do with oysters?” he asked aloud, tracing spirals on the tabletop with his finger.

“Let’s not talk about food,” Zo begged. “Don’t you feel bad?”

“Decent,” Leonardo answered. “But I dreamed of crazy stuff.”

“And I feel bad,” Zo scowled. “It’s your fault.”

“Sure, it’s always my fault,” Leonardo agreed resignedly. “What exactly is my fault this time?”

“Because of you, I’ve lost the ability to drink.” Zo pointed at him accusingly. “You’re always harping on that wine should go only after work. And since work never ends… this is what happens.” His accusatory finger was pointing at the window now.

“Which doesn’t really preclude you from drinking wine,” Leonardo sighed. “Well, yesterday we did step beyond the limit, I must admit.”

“You’re a master of understatement,” Zo muttered.

They didn’t talk for some time. Leonardo who kept rubbing the tabletop with his finger fiercely regretted leaving his notebook in his room in the castle. He needed to put the tangled knot from his thoughts on paper – probably then he’d be able to find a thread.

“What did you dream of?” Zo exhaled. “If it’s not about food, tell me. I must take my mind off the horse rotting in my mouth.” 

His own comparison produced such a strong effect on him that Zo had to run to the window again. He returned looking even unhappier, but ready to listen.

“I had a really vivid dream where I went to the cathedral to hunt fireflies. And there I saw Riario who was a horrible monster and ate someone,” Leonardo narrated. “Oh, sorry, it’s about food.”

Zo blinked slowly. He glanced at the window wistfully, checked his inner feelings and stayed where he was, making a helpless gesture.

“Your first sentence explains everything and your second sentence explains what the first one doesn’t. Did we really drink grappa yesterday? Wasn’t it some broth of fly-agarics?”

“We’d feel worse after broth of fly-agarics,” Leonardo disagreed seriously.

Zo shook his head – only to wince and rub his temples.

“As for Riario, have you ever had normal dreams about him?” His face immediately expressed his regret about the question posed. “No, Leo, that was a rhetorical question. I don’t want to hear the answer anyway.”

Leonardo chuckled. Fair enough. His dreams involving Riario were rare but vivid, and Zo wouldn’t be happy to learn details of some of them.

Around midday, the _osteria_ owner came in to find out if signori would like to eat and also pay extra because the night had been long over and the room was still occupied. Glancing at Zo’s very unfriendly face, Leonardo laid out a few coins hastily, refused the suggested meal and asked for a lot of water.

By silent agreement, they decided to stay in the _osteria_ ‘til the early evening. Leonardo told himself he was doing it for Zo: his friend lay sprawled on the pallet, swallowed amounts of water comparable with those a camel after crossing the dessert could drink and suffered – but in truth, he found himself reluctant to return to the gloomy empty castle. Besides, he was a bit afraid of meeting Riario.

It was ridiculous, really. 

Leonardo went down to the dining hall, had a harried lunch, waving off the owner who tried to take a seat next to him, and returned to the room, bringing a piece of bread for Zo and some writing tools. The latter was just low-quality brown paper and half-dry inkpot with a frazzled quill, but they were enough. Soon the paper was covered with numerous drawings: a full moon crowning a bell-tower, a dozen fireflies from different angles, an oyster with huge moony eyes, a crab with a pebble in its pincer who was staring at the oyster hungrily… Catching himself drawing a hand with long clawed fingers, Leonardo shuddered and put the quill down. 

“By the way,” he said absolutely irrelevantly, “did you talk to Caterina?”

“Yep.”

Zo’s face brightened up a bit and changed its color from a dull pickle tint to a delicate apple-green hue. Leonardo watched this change with the professional curiosity of an artist. It was an exaggeration of course, but Leonardo never complained about a lack of imagination.

“This asshole bagged an excellent woman, let me tell you,” Zo continued, unaware of Leonardo’s artistic observations. “Her tongue is sharp like an acacia thorn. Also what she cooks is not only soup just as I suspected.” 

“Did you two really discuss alchemy?” Leonardo asked in surprise.

“I don’t have a death wish, so yeah, we discussed alchemy. Well, she calls it beauty aids. You know women. She’s even going to compile a book.” Zo suddenly giggled. “By the way, her potions are not only for women. Do you know what ought to be eaten for potency?”

“Fortunately, I don’t. There’s no need,” Leonardo snorted. “But I’m curious.”

“One second, I memorized it deliberately…”

Leonardo snorted more loudly.

“Only with the intent to laugh together, you moron.” Zo tried to kick him but didn’t reach. “In short, you take half a _boccale_ of runny honey, add pine nuts, calamus roots, cinnamon, hemp, and a lizard. You take it every day and voila, you’re as strong as a bull in all necessary places.”

“It had sounded almost appetizing before you mentioned a lizard,” Leonardo sighed. “Should the poor creature be raw or fried?”

“She didn’t specify,” Zo chuckled. “The fun has just begun. She has simpler and more hardcore recipes. For example, before a night of love you must swallow a lizard. Without any honey.”

Though Leonardo had seen enough really strange substances which the court physicians had passed off as medicine he still was very impressed by Caterina’s inventiveness.

“I wonder,” Zo said vindictively, “if she makes Riario swallow lizards at night.”

Leonardo exploded with laughter.

“I should try to find it out,” Zo added dreamily.

Leonardo hoped that even if it was true Caterina wouldn’t confess because otherwise Zo would make Riario die of shame and Caterina would become a widow after all, this time for sure.

***

The sky outside the window started to turn crimson. More or less recovered, Leonardo and Zo came down to the dining hall to have a light meal before the return trip. The count and countess must have already had dinner and Leonardo didn’t want to bother them.

There were even fewer people than yesterday at the tables, next to no one, besides, all the clients sat in silence and looked sullen like thrushes in a storm. 

“So where are you going at this time of night?” The owner noticed Leonardo and Zo when they were about to leave the table. “Do you want to die?”

“No more than yesterday,” Leonardo answered vaguely and sat down again.

He did pay attention to the air of general oppression though yesterday he had thought that it couldn’t get any worse.

“Has something happened?”

“And how!” the man responded enthusiastically. “I tried to tell it to you at lunch, Signor Artista, but you waved me off as if I were an annoying fly and since I’m only a humble tavern owner…”

Leonardo waited patiently for him to complain to his heart's content and get down to business.

“Do you know Bruno the butcher? Ah… you can’t know him, you’re from out of town.” The owner gave himself a fillip on the forehead. “A good butcher he was, never cheated his fellows on the weights… Well, he died!”

“Did he happen to drink your grappa before his death?” Zo muttered under his breath.

He seemed to be still unable to forgive the owner for his bad hangover. The man stared at him, puzzled, but Leonardo drew his attention.

“Well, it’s certainly sad, but…”

“It wasn’t a natural death, he was killed by the specter! The thing carved him just as he used to carve carcasses. Right near the church, good Lord, deliver us!” The owner clasped his hands together reverently. “Crosses, God’s Word, holy places – nothing works! I sense it with my gut we need to run away from here, but my wife dug her heels in. She says we have nowhere to go without work or a roof over our heads. And I tell her, you just wait and we’ll have a coffin lid as a roof and work as food for worms…”

The owner was still babbling, constantly interspersing his narration with mentions of the Lord and lamentations, but Leonardo stopped perceiving his words; all over again he saw the skin peeling off in gray flakes, long claws and bloodshot eyes; all over again he heard a wet crack as if someone was tearing thick soaked fabric.

“This Bruno,” he said, suddenly barely able to move his lips, “was he fat?”

The owner stopped short and smiled wryly.

“Had some meat on him, that’s a given. You don’t see a lank butcher, eh, signore? Why are you asking exactly?”

“For no special reason.” Leonardo headed for the door resolutely. “Thank you for food and shelter. We’ll take the road before it gets dark. Zo, are you coming?” 

“Coming.” Wincing, Zo moved aside his bowl the contents of which were hardly reduced by half. “Do you know you’ve got some nasty stuff on your boot?”

Leonardo took a closer look at his boot when he was putting his foot in the stirrup.

The worn leather just above the heel was soiled with dark spatter. 

***

Despite Leonardo’s concerns, they didn’t have to shout under the wall the whole evening; they were let in quickly. The maid, Guianna, told them, dropping curtseys, that her masters were in the library. Zo pleaded ill-health and retreated to his room while Leonardo asked Guianna to show him to the library.

Riario and Caterina sat opposite each other at the carved round table. There was a board with a pattern of squares and two little pots full of white and black stones between them.

“Ah,” Riario looked over his shoulder and smiled good-naturedly. “I am ashamed to say this, but I thought you had left without saying good-bye.” 

“We went to the _osteria_ yesterday evening,” Leonardo explained, careful to sound nonchalant. “Got carried away a little bit.”

“I do envy you on that.” Riario feigned a wistful sigh. “My spouse and I while away evenings over a game of weiqi. Our mutual acquaintance taught me it in the old days.”

Immediately Leonardo remembered his adventure in the Vatican: a box of a room behind the bars in the Castel Sant'Angelo, an unfinished game very similar to the one he could see on the polished tabletop now, and a very familiar lullaby an old man with a long gray beard had been singing in a low voice.

After that man had got out of his prison he’d had the Ottomans on Italy, and as for his daughter…

Leonardo chased away the memories and gazed into Riario’s face.

Absolutely nothing. 

In all likelihood, it had been a drunk dream. The butcher? Coincidence. Robbers disguised as evil spirits or a lunatic who had taken the countess’s punitive measures too close to heart. The soiled boot… You could step into all kinds of nasty stuff in the streets.

“Has your friend returned, too?” When Leonardo answered in the affirmative Caterina rose from the table. “Last time we had an extremely captivating conversation. You do not meet many likeminded people in our backwater. Do you think he would want to spend another evening in my company?” 

With apologies, Leonardo informed her about Zo’s unwellness and explained its reason as delicately as he could. Riario grinned gloatingly and Caterina, her voice ringing from suppressed laughter, promised to prepare the cure for ‘this unfortunate ailment’.

“Should I call him?” Leonardo gave in, deciding that Zo wouldn’t refuse to meet a beautiful woman even being on his deathbed, much less hungover.

“I’ll send the maid.” Caterina nodded to Riario, smiled at Leonardo and left the room.

Riario stayed at the table and Leonardo kept standing stock-still next to him, looking at the smooth glossy stones. His thoughts were filled with resounding silence and for once Leonardo didn’t welcome it. When Riario got up abruptly he almost recoiled.

“Do you mind playing a game?” The count turned over the board, put the stones into the pots and, collecting all the items, headed for the door. 

Leonardo could say he didn’t know how to play weiqi, but instead he followed Riario as if spellbound.

After a short walk through the corridors he realized that the count had led him to his chamber. The shutters on the windows were closed, there was a thick carpet on the floor and the walls were covered with tapestries. There was a fire dancing in the fireplace; a couple of fire baskets and a lot of candles lined up along the walls, so the room was well-lit and surprisingly hot like a smithy. In spite of all the heat, about half a dozen blankets were piled up in disarray on the bed.

“I have been sleeping,” Riario explained, catching him watching.

“In the daytime?”

Riario raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, in daytime. Haven’t we already talked about it?”

“We have,” Leonardo agreed. “Are you cold?” 

Riario sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled the little table towards him and put the board and the stones on it.

“Who is not? I beg pardon, artista, you have lived within stone walls, can you deny they are cold?”

“I can’t help imagining that these particular walls will feel blistering to the touch. It’s hot here like in a bathhouse.”

Riario didn’t answer. He picked up a black stone and put it in the corner of the board. Looking around, Leonardo saw that the only chair was occupied with a high, precariously stacked pile of books. For lack of other seats, he had to perch himself next to Riario. At any other time such closeness would make him happy, but now he could feel beads of sweat forming under the hair on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t because of too warm air. He fished a white stone out of the pot and put it on the board by guess. A black stone was placed near it almost immediately.

Riario took a whiff and snorted, “You are stinking.”

This comment seemed confusing, to say the least. Leonardo hadn’t been stinky in the Children of the Sun’s cell after the long sea voyage, the journey across jungles and the many day-long imprisonment, but right now Riario had suddenly developed a delicate sense of smell. Not to mention the fact that he had never been squeamish.

“Well, sorry,” puzzled, Leonardo put some mocking mortification in his tone. “I was just going to take a bath with fragrances and rose petals, but you distracted me.”

“Of fear I mean,” Riario added.

Despite the heat spreading about the room in waves, Leonardo felt a chill down his spine as if a cold draft had filtered through the carpets and tapestries. Automatically, he reached for another white stone, dropped it, tried to catch it with his other hand, but Riario got there faster by a smidgen of a second and the back of Leonardo’s hand came down onto the count’s palm. The stone fell on top. Leonardo was about to jerk his hand back, but Riario closed his hand, pressing his fingers into Leonardo’s skin where the vein was pulsating. 

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you that I have no idea how to play this darned game?” Leonardo asked, his voice suddenly strained.

Something was seriously wrong. His stomach began feeling unsteady, his hands went cold, and everything kept blinking dark repeatedly before his eyes as if a swarm of flies was passing back and forth. Leonardo had rarely felt so scared and never for no apparent cause.

“No, that you saw me in Santa Croce.”

Leonardo became as still as a statue. His mind was focused solely on the smooth white side of the stone. All thoughts left him only to come back a moment later and begin to rush about like a herd of panic-struck horses.

_What are you talking about?_

_I don’t know what you mean._

_I’ve never been to Santa Croce._

_I got drunk and slept like a dead man all night._

_I didn’t even know you left the castle_…

Right in front of his eyes the neatly trimmed nails flickered, lifted slightly and darkened. Their rounded edges narrowed and spread forth, elongating like stone shoots. Their tips sank deeply into the skin of Leonardo’s wrist, forcing out quickly swelling beads of blood. Now the attempt to withdraw his hand would result in torn veins. But Leonardo’s mind was so clouded with fear that he didn’t feel any pain.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” Leonardo confessed with the frankness of one condemned to death. “I was drunk. I thought it was a dream.”

From Riario’s nails – claws – grayness crawled up his fingers like manifold accelerated decay. Just a few moments later Leonardo, once again, had the dubious pleasure to see the ashen skin peeling off in transparent flakes like ill fish’s scales. Riario’s face was likely to be transforming in a similar way, but Leonardo was trying his best not to look up.

“You and your bad luck,” the count commented thoughtfully.

Leonardo could agree. However, he thought that after leaving Florence he’d left behind all secrets and strange events. Over the years spent in the service of Sforza, nothing unusual had ever happened to him. Even in his dreams daily routine and art had mostly replaced everything else.

But now… It was as if having met Riario, he met his past, along with incomprehensible things he had once been trying to fathom so hard.

It would be a shame if this ‘ghost from the past’ killed him.

Blood was trickling slowly down his wrist.

“You asked how I had survived,” Riario said. 

His voice was hoarse. Leonardo looked up reflexively and barely willed himself into staying put, only gasping for air. The face in front of his own looked just the same he had seen in the church, but at close range those eyes seemed even more dreadful. Riario opened his mouth slightly, about to add something else, and Leonardo noticed with surprise that his teeth were absolutely ordinary. How could he tear someone into pieces with them?

“You didn’t,” Leonardo half-stated. “What are you now? I guess it has nothing to do with the Sinner. _Lupo Mannaro_? _Morte vivento_?”

He wasn’t trying to buy time – he had no reason to do it. However, thirst for knowledge didn’t leave him even now. If he was destined to die he had at least to know first what he was dying of. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in demons and the like,” Riario said.

“Thanks to one particular Turk, I believed in demons quite a while ago,” Leonardo answered. “However, they probably aren’t the demons you’re talking about.”

Riario put Leonardo’s hand to his mouth and, without removing his claws, gathered the blood with only his lips. His touch felt icy on the heated skin. Though the count’s teeth looked comparatively harmless Leonardo’s stomach dropped.

“Believe me or not, in my condition it never occurred to me to try and find out how I should be called now,” Riario licked his lips. “But since I died and now I am alive again I think your second assumption is closer to the truth. I do not turn into a wolf.”

“What about a bat?”

“Are you suggesting I should jump out of the window to test this theory?”

His claws sank deeper into Leonardo’s flesh and Leonardo hissed quietly; he’d recovered a bit and the pain came back in full.

“Why are you playing for time, artista?” Riario peered into his face searchingly, closing his fingers further slowly. “Is your friend Zoroaster supposed to run here to save you?”

“I sincerely hope he won’t run here to save me.” It was getting harder to keep his voice steady with every passing moment. 

His fingers started getting numb, but his wrist was on fire as if red-hot iron nails were being screwed into it slowly. Leonardo swallowed the whimpering ready to escape his throat and said chokingly, “Girolamo, I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Those red-hot iron nails sank a bit deeper and suddenly disappeared. Crying out, Leonardo pressed his now free hand to his chest, dropping the stone on the bed. The blood was flowing freely now, in dark steady rivulets. Leonardo wrapped his wrist tightly with a corner of the bedsheet and risked a glance at Riario. Looking at the fresh stains on Leonardo’s shirt fixedly, the man was licking his fingers, one by one, absentmindedly. His skin looked normal again, his claws had vanished.

He saw Leonardo looking and snapped out of his thoughts. 

“I know you won’t,” he said. “Or you would be found in that garden next to the butcher. By the way, what were you doing in the cathedral at night? Spying on me?”

“I didn’t even suspect you had left the castle,” Leonardo objected quickly. “I… I… I was looking for fireflies.”

Riario who was sucking his little finger studiously removed it from his mouth and gave a laugh.

“In the cathedral in spring? What are you going to tell me next, artista? I have lost my life, not my brain.”

“I’ve already told you I was drunk as a fiddler,” Leonardo repeated helplessly.

Riario hummed and started to put stones on the board and remove them, apparently playing against himself. He didn’t inform Leonardo about his further intentions nor did he offer his guest to leave so Leonardo stayed next to him, checking his makeshift bandage from time to time. The bleed became slower.

“In the main, I told you the truth,” Riario said suddenly, forming an especially complicated combination. “Everything happened exactly that way save for a couple of details. As you have reasonably noted, I failed to fight off the attackers so the third dead body in that room was mine. Ninni and I went to retaliate for my death together. There were no show executions, only the show hanging of dead bodies if I may say so. Even if there were witnesses they did not survive.”

Leonardo’s blood ran cold. So Caterina… too? He jumped up and rushed to the door, but before he took a few steps Riario somehow appeared right in front of him and pushed him in the chest. As if kicked by a horse, he got knocked back and fell into the heap of blankets, futilely gasping for air.

“What sort of foolishness is this, artista?” Riario stopped at the foot of the bed, his arms folded.

Coughing, Leonardo instinctively crawled back to the pile of pillows.

“Zo,” he uttered in a hoarse voice.

Riario rolled his eyes. 

“Your friendship is truly touching. It is not him you should be worrying about.”

“I thought…” Leonardo fell into a bout of dry coughing again. “You said…”

“Your friend is safe,” Riario sighed. “Because he does not search churches for fireflies at night.” These words came out in such a mocking tone that it became clear – he hadn’t believed in the tale of the drunk walk.

Leonardo could start to offer excuses again, trying to persuade Riario that grappa was to blame for all this, but he understood it would be to little effect. Finally having calmed his breath, he froze in an awkward position, propping himself up on his elbows, and eyed Riario, trying to figure out what the man was up to. Riario, for his part, fastened his vacant eyes on Leonardo; either he was making some decision or listening to his inner feelings. Leonardo just hoped these inner feelings, if any, were not hunger and Riario wasn’t weighing up what was more important, Leonardo’s past endeavors or his own empty stomach. 

_Though why empty? The butcher was fairly corpulent_.

Leonardo caught himself trying to compare Riario with a boa snake and in this manner calculate if the count was already hungry or not yet. He’d laugh at his own thoughts, but he was aware of them being nothing other than attempts of his terrified mind to get distracted from the inevitable sad fate since there was nothing to be gained from running or fighting.

He didn’t notice that Riario had been first to snap out of his contemplations.

“What are you thinking about, artista?” he asked with a barely perceptible smile as if he found the whole situation amusing.

Perhaps he did, after all. He’d always known how to inspire fear and show off his power, and he openly enjoyed applying this knowledge, especially given that he’d fully experienced it first-hand in his youth. It had been quite a few years since he’d got rid of the old man’s control and the need to be constantly afraid, but while cuts scarred injured pride, just like an irritated wound, bled again and again. 

“Hunger,” Leonardo answered honestly.

“Are you hungry?” Now Riario was mocking at him openly.

“No,” Leonardo played along. “You?”

Riario stepped closer so he recoiled, nearly losing his balance and falling backward, but the count just sat gingerly on the corner of the bed and started collecting the stones from the board and putting them back into their respective pots.

“My hunger never obfuscates my mind.” He was serious again.

“Those bodies in the square are torn into shreds, only the bones were left intact,” Leonardo disagreed.

Riario’s hand froze over the board for a moment, then he rolled his eyes. 

“I could say your curiosity would kill you one day, but the years are passing and you are still alive. Unlike me. However, it is hardly a commendable trait.”

“Healthy curiosity is a naturalist’s necessary feature.”

Leonardo’s shoulders started getting tired, so he lowered himself as smoothly as he could on the pillows which conveniently happened to be under his back. A quick glance at his injured arm showed that the punctures were still bleeding, but pretty sluggishly. Probably if it weren’t so hot here the bleeding would have already stopped. The wounds stung with sweat. 

“Exactly!” Riario raised his index finger. “Your curiosity exceeded all reasonable limits long ago.” Not letting Leonardo get a word in, he continued, “I do not eat human flesh, least of all dead flesh. I only drink blood.”

“But back then…”

“Back then I was angry. Scared. Confused,” he let the words drop one by one like he had done with the stones shortly before that. “I always thought I was indifferent to death, but as it turned out when you had someone to live for dying was far more terrifying and bitter than I had ever thought. However… I must admit I did feel some hunger and thrill. You cannot deny that when you see the simpletons by whom you were slaughtered and their spawns squealing like rats on fire and soiling their pants… the sight makes you experience certain satisfaction. 

His surprisingly wide grin – wry and malevolent – immediately reminded Leonardo of the Sinner’s grimaces. What was there to say, he could forget the Sinner for good. More serious problems had emerged – they couldn’t be cured by injections and heart-to-heart talks.

“I’d feel squeamish about drinking their blood,” Leonardo said carefully.

Riario shook his head in disagreement.

“I am not squeamish and back then disgust bothered me even less.”

Since there was no more violence from the count, Leonardo perked up a bit and his natural curiosity overpowered fear.

“You have no fangs so how do you drink blood?”

Riario frowned, ran his tongue over the inner side of his lips as if Leonardo’s statement had come as a surprise to him, then laughed, flashing his white – and still purely human – teeth.

“It can be easily fixed,” he said casually.

Apparently, by the third time Leonardo had gotten a little accustomed to Riario’s new looks. At least he watched the transformation rather with scientific interest than soul-chilling terror. This time the count turned all the way. He bared his teeth intentionally and Leonardo was able to observe them seemingly splinter, but everything happened too quickly – in a heartbeat long thin needles were sticking out of the pale gums. There was no division into small incisors and big canines like in animals, but rather like in predatory fish – the solid razor-sharp stockade. Before Leonardo could have a closer look the teeth started transforming again and almost returned back to normal, leaving only neat longish fangs. Riario’s skin grew lighter, smoother and fresher though it still looked exceedingly pale. Then the fangs were gone, too. Following that, Riario returned his usual appearance. 

“The first guise is intimidating, but incredibly inconvenient,” he admitted. “The second one makes distinct speech pretty impossible, too…” He glanced at Leonardo and suddenly started to laugh.

“What?” Leonardo asked warily.

“I cannot believe my eyes… are you drawing?”

Leonardo cast a sidelong look at his own hands. His fingers were unmistakably moving. It wasn’t unlikely that just a few moments ago they – regardless of their owner’s impressions – had been dancing over the blood-stained sheet, ‘sketching’ the unbelievable transformations.

“Sort of.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a bit embarrassed. “Just a habit. If I had my notebook on me I’d have already filled half of it even if you were finishing eating my leg in the process.”

Softness which hadn’t been there before appeared in Riario’s smile.

“Who would want a painting of such handsome me?” 

“It would be rather for scientific purposes,” Leonardo clarified. “Though I’ve heard about craftsmen who are said to paint portraits in such a way that you can see either a fair lady or a horrible monster in them depending on the angle. But I’ve never seen anything like that with my own eyes.”

“Scientific,” Riario mimicked good-naturedly. “What am I, a monster show?”

“You’re not a monster,” Leonardo assured him hastily, then thought for a moment and added, “At least most of the time.”

Riario gave a low laugh, added some wood into the fireplace, returned to his previous spot and got quiet, hunching slightly and looking into the fire. Leonardo started moving discreetly to the farthest corner of the bed, the one closest to the door.

Riario seemed not to notice his maneuvers, but suddenly he asked lazily without turning, “What are you doing, artista? Going to escape again?”

“No,” Leonardo answered quite sincerely. “I want to see not only your back.”

Riario gave him a wry smile over his shoulder.

“I am glad to hear that.”

“You didn’t even ask, for what.”

Riario turned to him fully.

“I know what it is. Exhale, Leonardo, I am not going to eat you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Leonardo shot back.

Riario snorted.

“As we’ve clarified I’m not playing for time nor waiting for Zo to help me.” Leonardo got up the nerve to take occasion by the forelock. “If all this isn’t about playing with your soon-to-be dinner why are _you_ stalling for time?”

“I am enjoying your company.” Riario spread his hands theatrically. “We are sitting by the fire and having a conversation. I invited you here just for that very purpose if you remember.”

“You invited me to share a meal,” Leonardo reminded. “In newly discovered circumstances it sounds quite… ambiguous.”

Riario laughed politely, showing that he’d got the joke.

“I do not believe you understood my missive so literally. As I’ve mentioned, most probably I will have to leave.” He turned a bit sulky. “God knows where and for how long. For this reason, I experience a certain nostalgia for past days though I cannot call them particularly joyful. I do not want you to put on airs, but I must admit our acquaintance left an indelible mark in my memory, therefore, I wanted to see you again.”

“I’m flattered,” Leonardo chipped in out of courtesy.

“I dare say,” Riario agreed dryly. “Except that it looks like you prefer to run away from the castle and fuddle yourself in taverns with Zoroaster insomuch that you cannot come back in the next day and night.”

Leonardo opened his mouth, closed it, opened again and finally asked incredulously, “Are you jealous?”

Riario snorted in annoyance and shook his head to keep his bangs out of his eyes.

“Thinking of this mongrel as an adversary in the fight for your attention is beneath my dignity.”

Leonardo nodded, “You _are_ jealous.”

The grimace of almost grotesque arrogance laced with disdain appeared on Riario’s face.

“Sorry,” Leonardo backed up. “I just thought since you were a family man it wasn’t good to deprive your wife of her husband’s company for a long time.”

Riario cocked his head.

“Since when did you start to think about other men’s wives in this light?”

“Since these wives are perfectly able to kick anyone’s arse,” Leonardo confided.

Riario shook with silent laughter.

“It’s a sensible conclusion,” he said a few moments later. “My Ninni would. But feel free to think that she gave you her permission to deprive her of my attention. She has things to do.”

Leonardo felt concern about Zo’s wellbeing again. If Caterina was a similar… creature, dear heaven, let these ‘things’ be about alchemy, not about satisfying hunger. The rumors about the monster sneaking around the city hadn’t said a word about her; Riario had only mentioned that they had gone to retaliate for his death together. Then what? Where did she find food? Could Riario bring her what was left of his own meal as forest beasts did?

He was going to try and ask about it tactfully, but Riario sighed and started talking again. 

“During our whole conversation I keep coming back to the thoughts about a… let us call it a riddle. Can I hear your opinion regarding the answer to it?” Leonardo nodded and Riario continued, “Just imagine, you went for a walk in the woods and suddenly you felt thirsty. Probably, you ate too much salt-cured fish in the morning or maybe your cook over-salted the soup, it is unimportant. It is not fatal, it can wait ‘til the evening, but you cannot stop thinking about it. There are a lot of springs nearby, you can hear them murmuring, you know that their water tastes pretty fine and, making some efforts, you are able to find them and quench your thirst from any of them. But then, all of a sudden, you remember that you have a bottle with a few sips of wine in it. Of thick sweet heady wine.” Riario licked his lips fleetingly and Leonardo mirrored him inadvertently. “Right here, at your fingertips. What will you prefer? Will you go to look for springs or taste some wine?”

“This is a strange riddle,” Leonardo frowned. “In the absence of other conditions the answer is obvious. I will drink the wine of course. And if it isn’t enough to quench my thirst I always can go and find a spring.”

Riario lighted up as if Leonardo had managed to solve a most difficult strategic problem.

“I agree,” he nodded with the look of deep satisfaction on his face. “My answer would be the same.”

“Wait…” Leonardo’s mouth became even drier. “Are we really talking about water and wine now?”

Riario snorted cheerfully, grabbed Leonardo’s legs quickly and jerked him towards himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Leonardo tried to resist before he started to think. For this he had to pay. Riario was on top of him in the twinkling of an eye and the man’s fingers, adorned with rings and so thin in appearance, squeezed his throat so fiercely and hard that Leonardo felt as if he had been pushed out of the tower window with a rope around his neck like a condemned traitor.

Panic-stricken, he grabbed Riario’s elbows, then flanks, tearing the count’s thin linen shirt, but suddenly the grip on his neck eased off, and Leonardo, taking a breath, was able to think straight again. Common sense told him not to move though suppressed fits of coughing kept shaking his body. They said when you faced a flesh-eating beast playing dead could help sometimes. Not all beasts though. Taking into account the fact that Riario wasn’t interested in dead bodies as food…

Riario looked quite confused and wild-eyed; either he didn’t expect Leonardo to resist so desperately or he didn’t expect such a response to this resistance from himself. His fingers relaxed a bit, now he wasn’t squeezing Leonardo’s neck, but rather holding it. However, he didn’t take his hands off so Leonardo chose to stay still. 

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

They said it in unison and stared at each other with similar indignation.

“I could have killed you,” Riario said reproachfully.

“Are you blaming me for that?” Leonardo asked in surprise.

“Then why are you wriggling?”

Leonardo was so indignant with this reply he lost all his words and was about to give the count a dig in the ribs plainly and artlessly, but he realized the risk just in time and had to find the words after all.

“What else am I supposed to do when someone drags me by the legs with unclear intentions?”

Riario sighed and sat up. Leonardo breathed some stifling air convulsively, feeling – at the really wrong moment – that the warm weight on his hips was extremely… 

“My intentions are still unclear to you?” Riario raised his eyebrow, unaware of Leonardo’s situation which – owing to a sudden burst of sensations and proximity of another person’s body – could at any time become really embarrassing.

“You said you wouldn’t eat me,” Leonardo reminded.

The count’s intentions were very much clear and not encouraging at all. Even if after rare feverish dreams Leonardo had happened to think that he wouldn’t mind getting inside Riario, he definitely hadn’t meant this.

_In truth, be careful what you wish for since wishes tend to come true in far too devious paths_.

“I know what I said. Given your phenomenal memory, you could have remembered what I told you about eating flesh.”

Riario completely calmed down, released Leonardo – to the latter’s both relief and disappointment – and, sitting on the edge of the bed, started to take his boots off. He reminded Leonardo of a snake that had hypnotized a baby rabbit and didn’t hurry anymore, sure that its prey wasn’t going anywhere. Putting up with his unfortunate position as a baby rabbit, Leonardo took off his boots without getting up, pushed them onto the floor and discreetly, as if accidentally, covered his groin with the corner of the nearest blanket. His treacherous flesh didn’t care about the fact that it wasn’t a night of passion its owner was about to get. Somehow Leonardo had left most of his love affairs in Florence, along with undiscovered secrets and bitter memories. In Milan, torn between his research pursuits and Sforza’s whims, he had given in to his body’s cravings very seldom though there were plenty of pretty faces and soft curves in the duke’s court. 

Riario sat next to him, legs doubled up, sniffed the air and nodded favorably.

“I like your smell a lot when you are not afraid.”

In this situation his remark seemed neither flattering nor at least reassuring, but Leonardo was surprised to realize that he was actually not afraid. The fear might have burnt out for the evening. Riario reached out and Leonardo’s body flinched sharply on its own, but the count only hooked Leonardo’s shirt collar with his finger and gave it a slight tug.

“Off.”

Ah, if this short word escaped Riario’s lips in a different situation Leonardo would pull off his shirt before the sound faded in the air. Alas. So Leonardo enquired suspiciously, “For what?”

“Drinking blood is a dirty pastime,” Riario replied serenely. “You will spoil a good piece of clothing.”

“A bit late to bother, don’t you think?” Leonardo pointed at a few dark stains. “There’s already quite enough blood here.”

“There will be more,” Riario promised in such a voice as if he was offering something incredibly wonderful. “As for this, it can still be cleaned up with cold water and salt…”

Leonardo almost found Riario endearing as a zealous master of the house. Within his recollection, though the count had always dressed smartly he’d never cared about preservation of his clothes. He’d just discarded clothes when they’d become unfit to wear and gone to the tailor to acquire new ones. With his father’s money, he had been able to afford it.

“Otherwise, after I finish you will have to throw it away,” Riario added.

It sounded quite sinister. Without a word, Leonardo pulled off his shirt and threw it to join his boots. Riario cast an unabashedly covetous eye on his exposed body. All of a sudden, the air in the chamber changed from hot to sultry, and Leonardo’s pants felt too tight. His swollen member was pulsating fervidly, restrained by the fabric and lacing. He needed to take measures, and urgently. 

_He sees you only as food_, Leonardo told himself mercilessly, _just like… buristo. A piece of sausage. Food doesn’t get off on someone who’s eating it. Just a thick chunk of fat blood sausage_.

Unfortunately, these rationalizations resulted only in slight nausea induced by too vivid an image of a mash of pig’s blood and cuts of pork meat stuffed into intestines.

Riario, bending closely over him, was sniffing his neck like an animal. Leonardo was looking another way diligently. There was a great temptation to kiss the count’s face which happened to be so close, but Leonardo was sure that Riario would see it solely as a deceptive maneuver. 

“So where are you going to… bite me?” Leonardo asked finally.

Riario huffed a laugh – a waft of cool air on Leonardo’s sweaty skin.

“I am going to taste you everywhere, check where you taste best.” He sounded airy, almost playful, but Leonardo failed to understand if he was joking or not. “Besides, I am not going to bite you. My mouth does not open wider than before and these teeth will cause too serious damage.”

“How then…” Leonardo trailed off. He recalled that Riario’s creepy guise had really sizeable claws. 

In fact it was strange he forgot about them; after all, he’d experienced their effect firsthand.

Riario raised his hand but didn’t protract his claws. He used to wear only one ring – on his fourth finger – but the number of his rings had significantly increased since then. Riario fiddled with the one on his index finger, twisted something, pressed something, and before Leonardo’s eyes a blade shaped like a truncated crescent rose from its head, not exactly big, but surprisingly long as compared with the ring. How did it fit in there? 

“You can take a closer look tomorrow if you want.” Riario noticed his curiosity. “Just do not break it. I remember that head…”

“I fixed it,” Leonardo protested.

More accurately, Andrea had fixed it while Leonardo had been busy rescuing the Medici’s palace from the clutches of the Duke of Urbino and his horde. He could have done it himself, but there had been too little time!

The blade was very sharp – Leonardo didn’t feel his skin part under it, he just felt hot drops running down his neck. Riario bent over him, clearly trying not to apply too much pressure, and started licking the blood. Now there was some pain, but it was only a little and could be easily ignored. Though probably Leonardo would prefer more unpleasant sensations right now because Riario was breathing in his neck, the man’s cool wet tongue was sweeping over his skin and the wiry hairs of his beard felt tickling. The heat in Leonardo’s groin which had faded a bit flared up again with a vengeance. Leonardo rearranged the corner of the blanket by touch and understood despairingly that he wouldn’t be able to take much more of this torture. 

There was a quiet knock on the door. Riario looked up, licking his lips, and murmured huffily, “Who the hell can it be?”

He headed for the door carelessly though it could be seen that he didn’t have any weapon on him. Either he had really become immortal and hence fearless or he felt absolutely secure in his house. Probably, both.

Leonardo used the opportunity to feel the cut. It was just a little scratch.

“Thank you, dear,” Riario said in a totally different voice.

He stretched his hand through the half-open door and Leonardo saw quite a big pitcher. Riario returned to the bed and put it onto the table, moving aside the board.

“Guianna has brought us a drink,” he explained. “Do you want to refresh yourself?”

Leonardo did. The uncustomarily heated air, nervous and physical tension along with lingering effects of yesterday’s grappa overindulgence had been drying his mouth for a long time. However, if Riario hadn’t offered Leonardo wouldn’t have thought to ask for a drink – he’d had other things to worry about.

Riario passed him the pitcher and Leonardo smelled its contents gingerly. It was neither diluted wine nor water.

“Herbal infusion. Ninni makes it herself.”

The drink was lukewarm and tasted of spices but was truly refreshing. Leonardo took several big gulps and gave the pitcher back.

“It’s pretty good. What’s in it?”

“I wish I knew anything about it.” Riario spread his hands. “She said something… Sacred weed, the dew of the sea… another dozen pretentious names. It is supposed to invigorate your body, soothe your mind and cure all possible and impossible ailments.”

Leonardo decided he would ask Caterina for the recipe before leaving. In Sforza’s court, given the duke’s capricious and changeable disposition, he had wanted to soothe his mind a half dozen times a day, but opium had long proved to be too strong a remedy. 

It looked like Riario was very serious about his intention to check where Leonardo tasted best. With the little arched blade he traced on the sweaty skin another small cut, instantly swelling with scarlet beads, licked off a few drops of blood and traced another one – at the base of Leonardo’s neck, on his chest, on the inner side of his shoulders and upper arms. He was moving down gradually and the whole situation started getting dangerous, but suddenly the much-praised herbal infusion began to work its magic – the itch below Leonardo’s waist subsided, the sharp heat quieted down to embers. Leonardo felt almost good.

Riario paused, sighed contentedly and lay down next to him, resting his head on his hand. 

“I knew your blood would be very special,” he said. “It is truly like comparing wine and water, unmatched.”

“Why would it?” Leonardo asked with a half-hearted surprise. “I have dissected corpses. Everyone's body's really quite the same inside. What’s the difference?”

Riario snorted, amused.

“You dig in dead entrails while I drink live blood,” he said. “So there is a difference. You taste like spring and sunlight.”

“The afterlife has been good for you,” Leonardo mumbled. “You’ve become a poet.”

The quip sounded distracted and fell flat. Leonardo had been looking at his hand for a few minutes now and couldn’t understand what was wrong. Suddenly he realized – the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The cuts weren’t serious at all, they were narrow and superficial, the bleeding should have stopped as soon as Riario had stopped to reopen the tiny wounds with his tongue. But the blood continued to rise drop by drop and run down to the bed, leaving dark trails. For some reason this discovery didn’t worry him. Instead, Leonardo remembered his hypotheses again, roused himself and perked up.

“A bat,” he said. “I told you.”

“And I told you that I was not going to jump out of the window to test your insane theory,” Riario retorted quite good-naturedly.

“It’s not about that,” Leonardo waved him off. “Do you remember when we were escaping the Stone city and got from the jungles to the plain I brought a calf of that animal Ima had demonstrated the principle of operation of the trap on?” He grew so excited he actually raised himself upon his elbow. “I found it at dawn, it was still quite dark, and I thought I had seen a bat fly off its head. Now I realize I really saw that bat. The calf had a small wound on its ear, but its whole head was covered with trails of not yet clotted blood so I hesitated if you should eat it for breakfast, what if it was ill. But beggars can't be choosers. So, it wasn’t ill! Local bats must feed on blood and probably there is something in their saliva that prevents bleeding from stopping… ”

“Wait.” Riario who was listening to his confused speech with condescending interest frowned. “Are you trying to say that for my sins the Lord wanted me to become a blood-drinking bat after death?”

“Of course no,” Leonardo couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “You yourself said you didn’t turn into an animal and didn’t feel like flying more than usual. But it looks like your saliva does contain something… Look, the claw wounds have long ceased to bleed though they’re much deeper than these cuts.”

“It is enlightening,” Riario commented. “To tell you the truth, I don’t usually feed from such little cuts so the fact that the wounds keep bleeding has never surprised me. How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Leonardo lay back again.

The answer wasn’t entirely honest. It wasn’t that he felt bad, but kind of… funny. Calmness was giving place to lethargy, and the burst of excitement faded, leaving languid weakness. He couldn’t even blame it on blood loss; yes, he’d lost consciousness pretty fast, giving his blood to Lorenzo, but then it hadn’t been leaving his body a couple of drops at a time. The very fact that the prospect of bleeding to death didn’t worry him at all was alarming enough.

The herbal infusion.

Leonardo groaned inwardly.

“What was in that infusion?” he asked.

Riario who had started to ‘taste’ his stomach replied way too calmly, “I’ve already listed the ingredients I remember. Different salubrious herbs I reckon. It is called herbal for a reason.”

“A likely story.” Leonardo could feel his tongue growing heavy. “Why did you poison me?”

“You know, Leonardo,” Riario stopped acting innocent, “I have made a few amazing discoveries of my own in the past weeks. Different people’s blood is different for me now like wines from different vineyards. Men and women, the old and the young – they are all taste different. But it is not only about age and such. My killers’ and their relatives’ blood had a very bitter taste on my tongue. I thought it was because they were impregnated with hate and filth, but later I realized that it was due to fear. Blood of a person who never knew what had happened to them is untainted by terror. It is a shame the streets become empty when it gets dark and it is getting increasingly hard to attack my prey unnoticed.”

The words already sounded muted, hot air was seemingly forcing its way through Leonardo’s nostrils, and the shadows dancing on the ceiling were making him dizzy. He suddenly thought that Riario definitely hadn’t attacked the butcher stealthily and, besides, he had been dragging his victim behind him for a while. Was it some private feud? The man’s blood must have tasted very bitter.

“When I tried your blood for the first time it was tasty but still bitterish.” Riario stroked Leonardo’s wounded wrist gently. “But now it is ideal. And becoming even sweeter.”

“Like sunlight, yeah,” Leonardo forced, fighting the gray fog slowly blanketing his vision. “Did you hear that when a rat eats another rat that died of poison it goes belly up, too?”

“First, you are not dying; second, we are not rats.” From Riario’s voice Leonardo could tell that the count was smiling. “Third, poisons do not affect me. I checked it.”

“You’re such a…” 

Leonardo didn’t have enough time to choose a suitable swear word. A particle of the fierce blue sky broke through the gray fog and blazed before his eyes only to be swiftly reduced to a tiny sharp point in deep darkness. Then it blinked off, too, like a faded star. 

***

He came out of the dream filled with darkness – velvety like a summer night in the country, thick and sweet like honey. Vague shadows had enveloped his body, licked his skin like warm sea waves, rolled in and out, leaving wet warmth and sensual bliss.

The dream was nice, but the reality turned out to be very pleasant, too. His member was no more restrained by the dense fabric, and a soft tongue was moving almost where he wanted it most. Just a little bit up and to the right, just a bit…

Leonardo sighed with pleasure; his leg was pinned down to the bed by something, so he bent the other one more and moved it to the side, opening up, after which, without parting his eyelids, he felt his lover’s head, intending to pull it to his hard member. But as soon as he buried his fingers in short silky hair it disappeared from under his hand giving place to something wet and sharp which slashed across his knuckles in a lightning-like move. 

Leonardo squealed and withdrew his hand, opening his eyes and trying to flinch back simultaneously, but the weight on his leg prevented him from moving while hard as stone fingers sank into his thigh. 

Gasping for air, he raised himself a little, cradling his wounded hand, and was immediately rewarded by the sight of his own erect member almost touching Riario’s cheek. The count’s expression was the one of carefully controlled reproach and his teeth were sticking out from under his lips so much that his mouth didn’t close properly. A moment later, however, they returned their usual look.

“You are awake,” Riario stated mildly. “And you have mistaken me for someone else I think.”

“Yes, probably,” Leonardo mumbled.

Lust, sudden pain and the remnants of the dream clouded his mind so much that he couldn’t muster up enough strength to feel like an absolute moron.

Though he should have.

Though the count had brought it on himself.

Riario was half lying on his side awkwardly, pinning Leonardo down to the bed, and holding his bent leg. Leonardo was completely naked now while Riario had gotten rid of his torn shirt and the glow of the fire created a rim of golden light around his disheveled hair and bare shoulders. There were dark streaks on his lips. 

Leonardo fell back on the bed. He had no desire to wonder what was happening, he just wanted to come and save reflection on the situation for later. For the morning, perhaps. However, he forced himself to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing new,” Riario responded serenely. “For this reason I would really appreciate it if you could stop sticking your private parts in my face and adding unrequired bodily fluids.”

Leonardo tried really hard to hear mockery in his voice but didn’t succeed. It was impossible. The count _had to_ be mocking him because on the one hand, yes, the inner side of a thigh with its thin, almost hairless skin and the abundance of blood vessels seemed like an attractive spot for his purpose, but on the other, there was no way he could fail to see how all this looked like… not to mention how all this felt.

_‘If you could stop’! Seriously_?

Riario took Leonardo’s hand bearing fresh teeth marks and sucked his fingers deep into his mouth, licking the split knuckles.

“Good Lord,” Leonardo said helplessly. 

He shut his eyes tight and understood that the liquids, so frowned upon by the count, would appear any moment and in abundance. Riario snorted indignantly. He clearly wanted to reproach Leonardo for taking the Lord's name in vain but had probably decided not to bring Him into such questionable activities. Leonardo withdrew his hand and clung to the wet bedsheet.

“I…” he gasped chokingly, hardly able to get his tongue, suddenly dry and heavy, around the words. “I’m going to…” 

Riario heaved a sigh.

“Don’t you dare do it on me,” he warned and wrapped his fingers around Leonardo’s member as if intending to move it aside.

Leonardo threw his head back and spilled, swallowing a moan and thrusting shallowly into the loose fist. The velvety darkness came over him again only to rush back a moment later. Leonardo went limp, slowing his breathing down. He was shaking a little. Through his eyelashes he watched Riario stand up and go to the corner of the room, holding his soiled hand in front of him and wincing like a cat that had jumped into some fresh paint accidentally. Then he heard water splashing. When Riario got back on the bed Leonardo saw smeared dark reddish streaks on his chest and hairs in his beard sticking together. His mind became clearer, and with that, alarmed. Leonardo examined himself quickly and was relieved to find out that he wasn’t lying in a pool of blood yet though there was enough of it to scare anyone. His heart was beating faster than usual and refused to get back to its regular rate.

“I need some air,” he said. “You have a lot of fire here and it devours air.”

“As you wish.” Riario nodded at the closed shutters. “Just do not open them too wide lest you catch a chill.”

Leonardo himself was aware that it was far too easy to get a lung disease in this manner. He sat up, paused on the edge of the bed for a moment to wait out a dizzy spell, then went to the nearest window, opened a heavy shutter a bit and pressed his nose against the resulting crack, breathing in the cold night air with pleasure. 

His head became clearer.

“Artista,” Riario called. “Are you sleeping there?”

“Rather, I’ve woken up.” Leonardo closed the shutter reluctantly.

The bed looked more decent now: Riario had chosen and spread out the least harmed blanket. He was standing near the fireplace and flipping through a book from the stack on the chair. It was when Leonardo noticed the scars. Flat and pale, detectable only in brighter light, they covered the skin of the count’s chest, stomach and sides so thickly that they looked like some mysterious ornament.

_‘Stabbed him with their swords and daggers almost beyond recognition.’ That__'__s_ _how_ _it_ _is_.

“What is it?” Riario demanded without looking up from his book.

“Nothing,” Leonardo said. “I’ll lie down.”

He stretched out on the blanket but then sat up again, realizing that he was really thirsty.

“Is there anything to drink?”

Riario nodded at the pitcher. Leonardo scowled.

“I’m not going to drink this.”

“Do not then,” Riario agreed easily. “But that is all there is. On second thought, you can find a washing basin in the corner. But I washed my hands in it.”

Leonardo gave him a death stare. Riario raised his eyebrows with feigned lack of understanding but then took pity and added, “I’ve watered it down by almost half. You can drink it without fear, it will not affect you too much.”

Leonardo was awfully thirsty. After short hesitation he took a sip of the herbal infusion and did find it highly diluted. He drank most of it and lay down. Riario sat down, tailor fashion, next to him facing the door and buried himself in his book. There was a silence; however, it was neither tense nor sinister, but rather cozy to a degree. Leonardo felt a bit dizzy, but this sensation seemed even pleasant as if he was rocking gently with the come and go of small waves. The burst of energy was short; Leonardo started to fall into a light slumber again. 

Suddenly the door flew open with a bang.

Riario didn’t even flinch nor closed his book. Leonardo pulled the blanket over himself quickly, then swore under his breath and tried to figure it out where he could get a weapon, after which he recognized Zo in the unexpected visitor and relaxed. Wrongly.

Zo wasn’t alone. He held a boy, perhaps three or four years of age, and held a knife at the kid’s throat. The boy wasn’t crying and didn’t look scared, but Leonardo’s heart sank.

“Zo, don’t…” he started. 

“Again?” Riario interrupted Leonardo’s intended speech in a very bored voice. “Go to Caterina, you mutt, she knows what to do in these cases.”

Zo was a little taken aback, but only momentarily.

“So that’s why this whore doesn’t let me go,” he snarled. “Release him immediately or else I’ll cut off your little son of a bitch’s head!”

Riario gave a laugh, hoarse and mirthless. Leonardo couldn’t see what he’d done, but Zo dropped first the knife, then the child, and they both fell on the soft carpet almost soundlessly.

“Go back to your mother, Galeazzo,” Riario intoned. “It is past your bedtime.” 

The boy slipped past a motionless Zo and vanished behind the door. Leonardo still couldn’t see what was happening, but Zo began to walk towards the bed, slowly and stumblingly like in a dream. His stare was vacant and stony. In alarm, Leonardo sat up, moved to the headboard and curled up there, wrapping himself in the blanket – he could see the scene a bit better from this spot. When Zo came within reach, Riario took his hand and sucked his fingers into his mouth, almost like he’d done with Leonardo’s fingers recently. Leonardo was afraid the count was going to retaliate for the threats by maiming Zo’s hand and called, “Girolamo, I beg you…”

Either Riario took pity or the sound of his voice broke the charm, but Zo flinched, blinked, jerked back his fingers with a little cry of disgust and recoiled, wiping his hand on his pants frantically. Riario burst into a hearty laugh.

“Zo, it’s okay,” Leonardo fired off before his friend did something reckless again. “We were just… just…”

Fortunately, the blanket he’d wrapped around him wasn’t too soiled, either, so Zo couldn’t see the full extent of the disaster, but he couldn’t help but notice blood stains on it.

“You’ve lost your mind, Leo,” he snapped. “And you… you…” He withered Riario with a look but was too scared by the recent performance to attempt an attack, so he just spat out helplessly and incredulously, “A churchman and yet a night demon, it's enough to make a cat laugh.”

“I retired from the position of the Captain General of the Holy Church four years ago,” Riario said, his voice cool. “So I have nothing to do with any church. Now if your misplaced curiosity is satisfied, leave us otherwise I will tear out your throat.”

Zo backed out to the door, shooting uncertain glances at Leonardo. Leonardo nodded energetically.

“Zoroaster,” Caterina called from the hall. “Are you here?”

In a panic, Zo looked back as if he found himself in an ancient Roman arena between a lion and a bear.

“Go,” Riario’s voice sounded a tiny bit milder. “I will not eat da Vinci. Also, my wife will not eat you and, I dare assume, she will even forgive you for this foolery if you do not make her wait.”

Zo spat a curse and banged the door shut.

“So that’s what you can do?” Leonardo asked after a short silence which wasn’t cozy anymore. “Impressive. You could just enchant me, eh?”

“I could not,” Riario admitted. “The effect does not last for a long time. If I am not able to attack my victim on the quiet I can lure them, but then I have to fight all the same. No one offers themselves to me readily.”

Leonardo remembered the count’s strange words.

“Why did you send Zo to Caterina? I mean when he was threatening the kid?”

“Ah, the word about this story has spread all over the country.” Riario turned to Leonardo lively, looking almost comically proud. “I was recovering after the transformation meanwhile Caterina was trying to come back to our castle. The conspirators let her in, but they had our children as hostages. Once in the castle, she refused to leave it. When threatened with her children’s death she shouted she would make more and was already, in fact, bearing a son.”

“She’s a heroic woman,” Leonardo replied, quite impressed, and moved a bit closer.

“Unquestionably so,” Riario agreed with alacrity. “Apparently our enemies thought the same since our children were released intact.”

“So how many children do you have? I saw none ‘til this moment.”

“After those tragic events we sent our older children to a secluded village to get them out of harm's way,” Riario explained. “The little ones, Galeazzo and Francesco, remained here, but they are looked after by a nanny. So yes… a lot of children…” He wrinkled his forehead in a playful manner. “Bianca, Ottaviano, also Cesare and Giovanni… Just too many to remember.”

“Six children in seven years? Wow.” Leonardo suddenly remembered Zo’s stories about the countess’s alchemical studies and just couldn’t help himself. “So it was lizards after all?”

Riario blinked.

“Forget it,” Leonardo waved him off.

Visibly confused, Riario gave him a surprised look, furrowed his brow and added, “Actually, there were seven of them. My second daughter died just after she was born. Honestly, I suspect that was when Ninni herself died. I do not know anything for sure though. I was away and she will not tell me.”

“Oh.” It was the only response Leonardo could come up with.

There was an awkward silence again. Then Riario smiled, softly and almost shyly, and pushed Leonardo back on the bed.

“All this excitement made me feel hungry anew.”


	7. Chapter 7

Even from here, from above, the sky looked like a limitless expanse. Leonardo admired the earth from a bird’s eye view, waved his wings and rose above the clouds. The sky was so high, so intensely blue. The white disc of the sun was shining in the blinding height. Leonardo was drawn to the light as if he was a lost night moth. His eyes were tearing up, but, unable to take them off the glowing celestial body, he was coming closer to it as fast as his reliable wings allowed him.

“What do you want, Leonardo?” the orb asked him, and Leonardo recognized his mother’s voice that he hadn’t gotten a chance to hear in reality.

“Make me warm,” Leonardo said.

Then the Sun took pity on him and sent a wave of liquid fire towards him.

When Leonardo woke up his skin still felt on fire. However, he realized quickly it wasn’t actually fire, but rather, freezing water. The windows were wide open, the pale morning light was pouring through them, and the flames remained only in the fireplace. Zo, holding a bucket, stood in front of the bed and his expression was the one of mixed relief and terror. 

“Riario will be angry, you’ve spoiled his bed sheets,” Leonardo pointed out, trying to sit up.

For some reason, he kept failing. He started seeing spots and his body strived to collapse back on the bed which, thanks to Zo’s efforts, had become quite unattractive.

“These bed sheets can’t be spoiled any further, they look as if someone has slaughtered a lamb on them.” Zo dropped the bucket and sank to his knees right on the bunched blankets and bed sheets, smeared with blood and now wringing wet. “God, Leo, have you seen yourself? I thought you wouldn’t wake up. What has this bloodsucker done to you?”

The unexpected shower had awoken Leonardo from his sleep but done little to clean him up. Raising his head a bit, he saw the dark winding trails of clotted blood which covered almost every inch of him from toe to chin. His skin ached. All in all, he felt pretty bad. Zo froze next to him in blank dismay; judging by his raised hands his friend clearly wanted to check him for injuries but didn’t dare touch him. 

“They only look bad,” Leonardo tried to reassure him. “Just little cuts. You’re panicking as if I’m skinned alive with all my bones broken.”

Zo snorted huffily but lowered his hands. Lying in a cold pinkish pool didn’t appeal to Leonardo so, literally crawling, he dragged his heavy body to a dryer spot. This way of moving didn’t make Zo less anxious. 

“The bloody witch kept me in her chamber ‘til dawn.” He ruffled up his beard impulsively. “She was smiling, she was plying me with food, she was telling me about deer hunting. I almost shit my pants as if I was back at Vlad’s. The little brat must’ve complained about me so I was waiting for the moment when she stopped smiling and started eating me. Also, I kept thinking about how you were…”

“And how did you know that Riario and I… eh…” Leonardo, for want of words to describe what exactly Riario and he had been indulging at night, gestured at the bed vaguely.

According to Zo, the boy, Galeazzo, was the one who had brought him. In the middle of the conversation with the countess Zo had had to go for a piss and on his way back he had met a child in the hallway, almost taking him for a ghost. In response to Zo’s queries, the boy had said he couldn’t sleep and had decided to go and look for his father.

“However, he peered through the crack and saw that papa was busy with dinner.” Zo gave a nervous laugh. “The little rat is a babbler. He started to describe the ‘dinner’ and at first I thought you two were making out here… You know kids’ imagination… When they see their parents like that little fools sometimes think their folks are fighting or eating each other.” 

And still, recalling the maimed corpses and disturbing rumors (and especially his aversion to the count), Zo had decided to check if everything was okay. He had told Galeazzo he’d gotten hungry, too, and the boy had led him readily to his father’s room. Zo had looked through the crack and almost reposed with the Lord.

“You’re lying there, all bloody, and this creep is just sitting next to you and reading his book!” Zo shuddered. “So I grabbed the little lad and went to save you.” 

“I’m extremely grateful,” Leonardo said carefully, “but it wasn’t very wise of you. I think Riario smelt you from the hallway. He didn’t even close his book.”

“Well, you’d think you always do wise things,” Zo snapped. “We need to get out of here before this son of a bitch is back. It’ll be really wise of both of us.”

“What will be really wise of you, Zoroaster, is to put your tail between your legs and spare us your company.”

Both Leonardo and Zo almost jumped out of their skins. Riario took off his cloak and hung it on a hook in the wall carefully. His face was impassive, but his tone was icy again.

“You came to my house uninvited, you insult me, my wife and my children,” Riario continued. “As if those were not enough you have turned my bed into a swamp. Is this how you repay my hospitality?”

“And you call _this_ hospitality?” Zo hissed, pointing at Leonardo over his shoulder. “Let me remind you, count, hospitable hosts feed their guests, not feed _on_ them.”

“I cannot see anything horrible in it if these guests do not mind.”

Zo was at a loss for words for a moment and Leonardo took advantage of his friend’s bewilderment.

“Did you leave the castle?” he broke in before Zo could recover and respond with another insult.

“I went to a spring for a drink.” Riario winked at him, looking through Zo as if the man were empty space.

Zo didn’t understand the allusion of course, but Leonardo was sincerely surprised.

“Are you bottomless?”

“You have to admit that there is a difference between savoring wine and quenching thirst.” The count’s smile grew wider. 

“I suppose so.” Leonardo chose not to argue with him. “Look, could you please leave us for a minute? We need to finish our talk.”

He realized belatedly that he was literally sending Riario out of the man’s own room, but the count left peacefully, mentioning that he would bring something to eat.

Leonardo wasn’t hungry – in fact, he felt a bit sick, but he hoped some drinks would be served for breakfast. His insides felt like the desert wind had dried them. Though he would still reject any herbal infusion.

“I really didn’t mind,” he said quickly, hiding his eyes in uncustomary embarrassment. “I won’t go into details because you always insist that I shouldn’t do it.”

“But he’s drained you of blood as if you were a game animal,” Zo countered hotly.

“I tell you it only looks like that. He’s like a bat… Ah, dammit, I’ll tell you about bats later.”

“Are you delirious or as your usual self?”

“My usual self.” Leonardo smiled with a corner of his mouth. “Then again, the senior court physician won’t stop talking about the beneficial effect of removing bad blood.”

Zo drew a deep breath and visibly relaxed.

“First, my friend, to remove your bad blood all of it should be removed, to the last drop. Second, wasn’t this very physician with this very suggestion the one whom you kicked out on his arse when Beatrice developed mammitis?”

“Anyway, you know what I mean.” Leonardo waved him off. “Honestly, Zo, I’ll be fine. We’ll go home as soon as we can.”

_As soon as I’m sure I’ll be able to stay in the saddle for at least half a day_, he added to himself but didn’t say it aloud of course. 

“Then I’m going to sleep,” Zo informed him gloomily. “I hope I won’t find a dry mummy instead of you in the evening.”

“Speaking of mummies, if you meet Riario on your way and there isn’t a pitcher on the tray tell him to come back and grab something to drink.”

“If I meet Riario on my way he’ll have that tray for a head.” Judging from Zo’s expression the idea suddenly became thought-provoking. “Especially if the tray is silver… By the way, do you think he’s afraid of anything? You know, silver, crucifixes, bright sunlight or garlic?”

“To tell you the truth I don’t think so,” Leonardo answered. “He would hardly be able to live in Italy if he were afraid of crucifixes, sunlight and garlic.”

Not to mention the fact that Riario’s new state definitely didn’t prevent him from praying in church and wearing a cross.

But Zo livened up all the same and it became clear that the next few days wouldn’t be boring.

***

And though Leonardo was ailing and mostly kept to his bed for some time he wasn’t bored.

He took the ring with a ‘claw’ to pieces vindictively and scattered the tiny details all over the table. Judging from Riario’s face, the count was about to clutch his head but was afraid even to breathe so as not to blow away some important part of the miniature gear.

Riario and Zo swapped places like figures in clocks; with incredible timing, one appeared in Leonardo’s room as soon as the other left it. Zo complained that Riario wasn’t afraid of crucifixes, garlic, aspen stakes, frankincense and prayers. Riario complained that he kept finding the triple amount of garlic in all dishes, sharpened pieces of wood were scattered all over the castle, the place began to stink of frankincense like a funeral and ‘your Zoroaster’ had become passionately fond of reciting prayers in Latin, with horrendous pronunciation and grammatical errors. Leonardo resisted laughter, comforted them both in turn and wondered where Zo had gotten aspen wood. On second thought, it was Zo. There was nothing he couldn’t find.

Caterina had visited Leonardo a few times, too. She brought home-made fragrant ointments and complained, though far more composedly, that Riario couldn’t stop complaining about Zoroaster. Leonardo, making his giggling sound like coughing with his last ounce of strength, comforted her, too. 

To make a long story short, the remaining days had gone, in comparison with previous ones, in an atmosphere of ease and lightness. Everyone had been busy and nobody had killed anybody (though at least two individuals weren’t at risk of it no matter what).

***

Leonardo and Zo were leaving Rocca di Ravaldino early in the morning, before sunrise. The air was still fresh, the pale moon was floating in the sky.

On the occasion of their departure, Zo was in good spirits; he kept making good-natured jokes about Leonardo’s revealed fancy tastes and wondering aloud if Milan’s joy houses provided such services. Leonardo maintained silence, hiding his smile.

“And still I can’t understand it.” Zo changed the subject suddenly. “Are they dead or alive? They eat and breathe, and Caterina has given birth to a bunch of kids.” 

His question remained unanswered – for once, Leonardo knew as much as his friend did.

The horses’ hooves clip-clopped on the bridge across the moat. Leonardo turned his head and looked up. The count and the countess stood on the stone balcony adorned with columns and gargoyles. Riario wasn’t watching his guests go – he was looking upwards, at the fading moon above the rustling sea of silvery foliage. Caterina was hugging him from the back and, it seemed, smiling.

They were a beautiful couple.

“His expression is strange,” Leonardo pointed out in a low voice. “As if he’s… suffering?”

“No wonder,” Zo responded without any bit of compassion. “His yum yum is gone and now he’ll have to slurp his wife’s soup again.”

“Zo, come on, quit it already!”

The past was behind once again, and his thoughts turned to the temporally forgotten equestrian statue. For the hundredth time Leonardo started drawing a model in his head, pondering over shapes and calculating if the horse would stand if he made it rearing up and how to avoid using ugly supports.

But the count’s sad face kept appearing through the mental images and calculations. Finally, Leonardo gave in and murmured, “Come now, Girolamo. You don’t want to go and leave her alone, I get it. But she’ll be waiting for you. And I… I’ll be waiting for a letter.”

“Are you delirious or as your usual self?” Zo enquired in a businesslike manner.

“As my usual self of course,” Leonardo joked his concern away and urged his horse into a canter.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler tags:  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*blood drinking, vampires


End file.
